A magical night.

The Covid restrictions roll back one by one. Our card room still closes at 1:30am each weeknight.

That last hour is the “magic hour”. Everyone wants to get it in.

After a full day’s work and a six hour session, I’m tired. I do sets of jumping jacks by the TVs between hands to get the blood pumping. I ratholed my initial buy-ins during my dinner break, so my $900 stack is profit.

Classic cooler. AK hit top two pair against my set of sixes. 666. Soul owned.

He starts complaining to his buddy about my tipping ($5. Think I should have tipped more? I don’t care) my play (think I should have folded to his three-bet? I don’t care). The action players have just left. In light of his bitchery, I rack up one hand later. (Don’t like my hit-and-run 15 min before the room closes? I don’t care.)

Up $1860 on the night. Life is good. Poker is easy. Why do I have a day job? Driving home at 2am and I feel energized and happy. Life is good. I love this game.

The next day I lost 4 buy-ins.

My aces were sucked out (insert boring bad beat story).

My queens ran into kings (I seriously considered folding).

One Ill advised bluff ran into passively played pocket Aces (hand was played excellent by my opponent)

And one slow, grinding, death by a thousand cuts style loss.

My soul is owned. The devil only let me win one night. 666. I hate this game.

See y’all next week.