Saturday morning Solly woke up with a hangover.
And he was also hungry.
He checked the pizza box and considered whether to eat the last cold triangle, but the cigarette lying inside the cheese didn't work out for him as a side dish.
He also felt that he might not be harmed by divine assistance expected in the evening, so he went to the synagogue of the Iraqis in Queens, which was the closest to him.
Solly sat in prayer wrapped in a shawl and muttering promises and vows.
After the prayer was over, the worshipers opened their Kiddesh Club.
Arak, whiskey, hamindos eggs, borax, chopped salad, challah and bagels.
One of the worshipers took out a large box of amba from a bag.
"From the Indian on the second", he said, "something original".
Then he brought out fried eggplants and homemade hummus.
Solly pounced on the table as if he had never seen a dish or food at all.
Two hours later Solly was already on the train to Atlantic City with a full stomach for the poker game of his life.
Solly knew that because in western society telling the truth is mandatory and lying is immoral, so when we bluff in poker the subconscious gives a response to the conflict between morality and bluffing.
A good player controls his reactions and studies the enemy.
But what will Solly do against an unconventional weapon?
Against a human truth machine?
Two in the morning, the night between Saturday and Sunday.
Seven hours of play have passed.
On the table lie 100 thousand dollars in different colors of chips.
Bessie's condition is not alarming, but Straight High keeps her alive.
After vodka six is the good and decent way to get drunk.
Someone whispers that in the 70's Bessie was the busiest and most desirable escort girl in town.
Bokavski once wrote a short story about her at the end of the night, a drunken seamstress in loose tights and with a face smeared with mascara, cursing the dealer.
Tonight she is playing with her remaining savings.
Because in a casino, any casino, the gambler is like Dante entering the gates of Hades in the "Divine Comedy".
The roulette wheel is their sin and their payment
The young Chinese, whose name nobody caught, was the amateur at the table.
He had a face that looked like a baseball glove and he wore his pants so high that to spit he had to unzip them.
At first everyone thought he was some kind of mathematical genius and feared that he was reading cards, but after two rounds it was clear that it was a flop.
The Chinese was not in the league.
It could be read like an open children's book with drawings.
The pile in front of him was shrinking.
One more round, maximum two, and it's history.
Jimmy the Armenian had money.
a lot of money.
His watch cost like a new Cadillac.
For some reason, Jimmy enjoys losing money, otherwise it's unclear what he's doing at the table.
The redhead who was smeared on the "nose" had enormous breasts, which one could suspect were the result of a surgical intervention by an unethical plastic surgeon.
Front that turns even a peaceful walk into an extreme sport.
The "nose", as tan as a grilled chicken, does not have a cut on it.
Concentrates on cards and sniffing.
The nostrils are his weapons, he does not touch alcohol.
A waiter with the face of someone having sex with umbrellas, made sure to place a glass of fresh carrot juice in front of him every half hour.
Solly sat on an impressive package and sweated like an Olafna girl on a Chippendales night.
A dark trail of sweat dripped from his black head of hair, making the dealer wonder if he had dyed his hair with shoe polish.
Sully didn't care, he was focused on "Nose".
The peking man is a true machine.
Never mind a poker face,
The "nose" has a sense of smell like a hunting dog, like a pig looking for a truffle in a pile of shit.
The "nose" smells fear in sweat.
the bluff
They say about him that if he doesn't have a cold, he beats anyone blind.
Eight in the morning.
Another night passed in the casino.
Another busy, bubbly night.
Blessed are you, God of capitalism 24 hours a day.
All around the storm roared with epileptic flashing neon.
Artificial gold glitters in fountain water, alcohol is spilled and trays of shrimp salad sandwiches taste like their plastic wrap.
In the main hall of the Hilton, the smell of cheap perfume mixes with cigar smoke, and the scent of urine rises from the machine area.
The guard of the machine will neither sleep nor sleep, God forbid someone else will come and collect the great prize.
Due to this the heavy users urinate behind the machines.
Because in a casino, any casino, the gambler is like Dante entering the gates of Hades in the "Divine Comedy".
Here comes a flashing neon sign, "Abandon all hope, you who enter my gates", and there inside the casino the sounds of the gambling machines seem like the death of torture.
This is the fourth gate in hell, the circle of the greedy busy carrying out their Sisyphean punishment: rolling huge rocks in different directions.
The roulette wheel is their sin and their payment.
The closed poker room was already much quieter.
The dealer shuffled the deck with nonchalant skill.
Chinese and Besi are history.
Jimmy left with a working girl, and only Solly and "Nose" head to head for the entire cash register.
Solly is sweating like a warthog, dripping onto the carpet, but the pile in front of him is growing.
The "nose" is pale and hysterical, he abandoned the carrot juice and switched to clean bourbon.
The redhead fell asleep on the chair, her tits spilling out onto the table like the ears of a cocker spaniel.
Another round.
The dealer deals a first card and Solly goes in heavy in the blind.
The "nose" hesitates.
To close Solly he must put everything he has left.
If he loses, the game is over.
He tries to sniff Sully, he suspects it's a bluff and beats him with everything he has left in the pot.
Solly closes on him.
The "nose" opens Paul House's hand.
Solly makes a sad face, the "nose" breathing freely, his hand ready to collect the booty.
"Just a moment Salvador," Solly throws the classic and puts a royal prince in front of the astonished eyes of the "nose" Cara.
After 13 hours the game is over.
The "nose" is frustrated, confused and nervous.
He got up from the table, not bothering to wake the redhead.
To Solly he filters: "Really well done. You completely confused me. You stink like Mahatma Gandhi's balls."
What's right is right.
Solly smells like the Ganges.
This is how it is when you drink a liter of Amba.
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