zbanger's blog: "hi on life and hi on jesus"

It was a Tuesday night when Fehn called me to see if I wanted to go out for cocktails that evening. “I don’t have any money,? I said. ‘Well, one of Megan’s friends told us the Marquis has $2 pitchers tonight, but I’m not really sure,’ he said. “No biggie,? I said, “let me call you right back.? I hung up the phone, and called information immediately to get the number to the Marquis. I called the bar, and to my delight, the hunch about cheap drinks that Fehn had actually panned out into something real, which was $2 pitchers. I called Fehn, telling him the good news. Upon hearing the news, he offered to buy my sister, Zuzu, and I cheap beer if we met up with Megan, his girlfriend, and him. I’ve never been one to pass up free drinks, so I jumped on the offer. “We’re on our way right now,? I told him. “See you soon!? The Marquis II is at the corner of Kirby and Bissonnet. It’s in a nice neighborhood, but there’s nothing nice about the bar at all. It’s a total fucking shit hole, which is probably why I like it so much. The building it’s in actually used to be a fine gentlemen’s establishment back in the day. In other words, it was a tity club. The bar doesn’t have a single window, so no natural light can get in, and no cigarette smoke can get out. The ceilings are low. The floors are dirty. But the drinks are cheap and strong, which makes up for everything else. When we got there, Zuzu and I had absolutely no money to our names, and only half a pack of cigarettes between us. We knew we were going to have to make something happen if we wanted to get drunk tonight. We found Fehn in the back room sitting with Megan and her friends at two tables pushed together. I‘d never met any of her friends before, and from the look of them, I didn‘t want to meet them. They had that young just graduated from college look, and reeked of wanna be professionalism. Full pitchers of beer covered the tables though, and we were thirsty. Fehn handed us two plastic cups, and we filled them with what we considered to be community beer that was sitting on both tables. Sweet nectar of the Gods! I thought as I chugged cup after cup. Fehn, Zuzu, and I were just pounding beer after beer. Before long, all the pitchers on our table were empty. So, we filled our cups from the pitchers on the table next to ours where all of Megan’s friends were. At first, they didn’t have a problem with us taking a beer, here and there. But, they definitely had a problem when they realized the insatiable thirst that we were cursed with. Soon, they were defending their beers, not allowing to get anywhere near their dwindling supplies. With no beer at our table, Zuzu and I made way in search of free beer and more cigarettes. We walked around the place once or twice looking for a friendly group of drunks willing to let us drink as much of their beer as we want. Instead, we found a full pitcher on top of a table with no one sitting at it, or even around it. Without hesitation, Zuzu went in for the kill, quickly grabbing the pitcher off the table. We drank it as we walked around still in search of the group of drunks that we knew had to be there. It didn’t take long until we found them, and when we did, it made worth the wait. There was probably 8 or 10 of them. They had 2 or 3 girls, and the rest were dudes. It was a sausage fest, which I’m usually not a fan of, but they were offering us free beer. And, so, we stayed, taking them up on their offer. They filled our cups, over and over, bumming us cigarette after cigarette the whole meanwhile. Somehow I got into a conversation with one of them about fighting. He was talking a big game about this and that and all the fights he’s been in. “My sister and I are crazy,? I said. ‘Oh, yea, I’m crazy, too,’ he said. “No, you don’t seem to understand,? I said, “Zuzu and I get uppity with people. We’ll get in their face, and proceed to beat them down.? I always think it’s funny when I tell people about Zuzu and I being crazy and aggressive. I tell how we are, that we have bad tempers and get in peoples faces, but they never really seem to believe it no matter how much I try to convince them. “I need some more beer,? I told him to end the conversation. I walked to their table, and sat down to make conversation with one of their friends who was sitting at the table while I filled my cup with their beer. I introduced myself, and made some bullshit chit chat for a few minutes. He looked up at Zuzu, and stared for a moment or two. Then, he looked me in the eyes, and said, ‘Dude, she has some big fucking tits.’ I immediately blew up on him. “That’s my fucking sister,? I said. “Don’t you ever fucking say that again.? He looked at Zuzu again; then, he looked back to me, and said, ‘Dude, she has some big fucking tits.’ Now, I really got pissed. I stood up, getting in his face. “Motherfucker, let’s go outside,? I yelled. “I’m going to punch out your goddamn teeth with fist! I’m going to fucking hurt you!? His friends immediately were pulling me back, telling me to relax, and that their friend was wasted, that they were sorry. Their friend was scared shitless. He was staring at the ground, not saying anything. Zuzu started getting worked up even though she didn’t know what he said that pissed me off. “What the fuck did he say about me?? She asked. “Fuck him,? I said, “Goddamn motherfucker.? She walked over to the dude. He was still in his chair staring at the ground. “What the fuck did you say about me?? she yelled. He didn’t say a word. He just kept staring at the ground. Zuzu cocks back her arm, and SLAM! She straight up bitch slaps this dude in his face open handed and hard. His legs start trembling. “What the fuck did you say about me?? Zuzu yelled again. He didn’t say a word. He just kept staring down. Zuzu cocked back again, and WHAM! She bitch slaps him a second time. Now, his arms and his legs are trembling. “Fucking look at me!? Zuzu yelled. He just keeps looking down though. Zuzu cocks back for the third time, and BAM! She nails him in the face again. Now, his whole body is trembling in fear while he keeps staring down. I actually think he soiled himself. Anywho, Zuzu is fucking enraged by now. She grabs the dudes pitcher off the table, and says, ‘I’d pour this on your fucking head, but I don’t want to waste the beer.’ ’Christian,’ she says, ’give me your cup.’ I hand it to her. She fills my cup, then hers. She handed me his pitcher, and took his actual cup of beer. We walked away with his beer, and proceeded to party more like nothing had happened at all.

“So, we pushed it as far as we could, and we survived---which means something, I guess, but not much beyond a good story.? -HST I put off going home for three weeks before I finally decided it was time to make way. See, for the past few months, I’d lived in South Carolina, running one of my friend’s campaigns. The political trenches are ruthless - you get overworked and underpaid. It was awesome though. And in retrospect, if given the chance to do it all over again, I’d turn down the opportunity instantly. Next time I deal with politics I’ll be the frontrunner—none of this behind the scenes bullshit—but that’s a different story. My trip home covered 6 states; roughly about 1200 miles. South Carolina to Georgia, Georgia to Alabama, Alabama to Mississippi, Mississippi to Louisiana, and finally, Louisiana to Texas. I hadn’t gambled during the whole campaign, and had an itch to test my luck. But the closet poker table was in Biloxi, Mississippi, which was a good distance away from where I was. It was already nighttime when I left. Running behind schedule is one of the things I do best. So, to make up for lost time, I jammed the gas pedal down, and took off like a bat out of hell in search of the winds of good fortune. Driving at night is hard, especially when rolling solo. It’s also boring as hell, there‘s no one to talk with, and there‘s long periods of nothingness. So, I popped adderall like candy, and smoked bowl after bowl. I think of this as my meditation time. It’s just me, my iron chariot, and the open road. A road trip isn’t a road trip if you’re not riding in style. And style to me consists of both beauty, power, size, speed, and don‘t forget bout dat BLING BLING. My love for the road is more like my love for my car. She’s a 1994 maroon big bodied Sedan Deville Cadillac. She’s my iron chariot, and I‘m her road warrior. Her windows are covered with limo tint, so, that we can have privacy when its just her and me. I love pushing her to limits on the open road at night when no one else is out. There’s something therapeutic about it. I guess because there’s not much to do other than to drive and to think. Driving doesn’t require as much thinking as it does concentration. So, all that time you’re concentrating on the road you get to spend thinking about your life. It’s strange, but nice. I think about friends from the past that I lost touch with long ago, and the people I once thought were my friends that really weren’t. I think about all the times I’ve wronged someone, and all the times someone wronged me. Girlfriends and relationships, and all the complications and heart aches that accompany them. Why did shit go so far south so fucking fast? Long road trips give me the time I need to think about the life I live, the things I’ve done and the things I haven’t done, all the people I’ve met and all the people I’ve lost, about loving, losing, pleasure, and pain. I think about all this, and try to make peace with a very unforgiving bastard, that unforgiving bastard being myself. When I get too deep and want to take a step back, there’s nothing to it though. Just role down all the windows, turn up the tunes, and fly down the road, me and my old lady, without a care in the world. By the time I took the Biloxi exit, I’d been smoking for 6 hours straight and had eaten at least 160 milligrams of Adderall. And according to one study I read is enough to either kill a small elephant or keep a big one awake for several weeks straight. To me though, it was nothing. Just another day in the park. I was ready to gamble…ready to test my luck in the felt arena. Biloxi isn’t on the actual interstate. What I mean to say is that the major interstate doesn’t go through downtown Biloxi like it does in Htown. You take the exit, drive for a little while, cross a bridge, and then you’re there. The highway to it actual dead ends into the Gulf of Mexico. It spits you out onto the main drag, which is parallel to the Gulf. The main drag is full of the biggest casino’s I’ve ever seen. But, then again, I’ve never been to Vegas. Nonetheless, the casino’s here have all the glamour that all the casinos in Louisiana lack. No one seems to know about Biloxi though. There’s no name recognition like there is about Vegas or Atlantic City, but I’m sure the casinos are somewhat in equal in stature. Driving down the main drag. All the big flashing signs, neon lights, and billboards make me feel like a kid on Christmas day. I felt giddy, and happy, and excited. Filled with anticipation. Huge neon lights catch my eye. Must stare. Sensory overload. Bright lights. It was like a high of it’s own. Driving past the Grand Casino, I noticed its sign said poker room. I was on the phone to my mom. Tell her I’m pulling over to sleep. Call her later. Click. Park in their parking lot, get out of my car, and head straight for the doors. Walked through the doors, down a long hallway, and finally arrived at the front desk. I stopped to regroup all my thoughts one last time, and also, to get directions. Behind the counter were two old women. “Pardon me ladies, but I was wondering if ya’ll could tell me where the poker room is?? I asked. “Through the main gaming lobby, up the escalators and straight all the way to the back until it dead ends,“ one said. “Thank ya’ll.“ I started walking away when asked, “Do you have a Grand Casino reward card?“ “No ma’am.“ “Well, if you sign up for one we give you a $10 bill.“ she said. $10 I thought. No way. Sounds too good to be true. “If I sign up, you actually physically hand me a $10 bill?? I asked. “Yes.? She replied. I filled out the forms, grabbed my new card, my new 10-dollar bill, and took off to meet my destiny. I walked into the main gaming room. High dollar slots, crap tables, blackjack tables, and roulette wheels were everywhere. So, were old people. Lights, bells, and whistles were going off all around me. It sounds like fortunes being made, but really it‘s fortunes being lost. Slot machines make the same noise when you pump your change into them as they do when you win money. It gives off the feeling that everyone is winning everywhere around you, but they’re not . I took a second to get a hold of myself in this ocean of chaos. I took the escalator to the second floor. The second floor was a sea of nickel slot machines and any other slot machine that didn’t meet the casinos latest and greatest standards that would’ve earned it a place on the first floor. It lacked all the glamour the first floor possessed. The second floor was second rate, and I’m not just talking about the games, the people were too. Whereas people on the first floor gambled for fun, the people on the second floor gambled because they had a problem, and from the looks of it, gambling wasn’t their only problem. Seeing this, it was no surprise that the poker room was put at the back of the second floor amongst the worse of the worst of down right gambling degenerates - people like me. I ran into the dead end, and there on my right was the sacred poker room. Praise be the poker Gods…for they giveth and taketh, I thought. I walked in the poker room, standing there for a minute to take it all in while I could. The poker room was fairly large, and had several tables of various limits going on. I walked to the cashier, and got $160 in chips. There was no wait, so I got to sit down at a no limit game right away. Game time baby! Get some! The table was full—me and 9 other players. Most of the other players were in their late 20’s or early 30’s. Some were drinking while a few others weren’t. Some looked, talked, and stank of cheap booze like they had drank too much. I never drink when I play cards. It’s not smart business. I’m there to take other peoples money, not have a good time. Although I do have a good time when I’m winning other peoples money. But playing drunk isn’t something I do. Drunk players can be deadly. It’s all fun and games when your taking their money. I mean they’re drunk--basically giving it away. But drunk players get good hands every once in a while just the same as sober players do. It’s hands like these when a drunk can turn your great night into the night you went broke. Nights like those suck. I was ready, but calm. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Just as quickly as I lit my cigarette, the dealer told me there was a no smoking in this poker room. I was devastated. I love to smoke. And I love casinos because you can smoke everywhere in them. Everywhere except the poker room at the Grand Casino in Biloxi. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me. The blinds were 5, 5. I sat there, folding hand after hand, for about 30 minutes before I decided to play. I had Jack-Queen suited. I was the in dealer position and last to act. Everyone at the table called the 5 buck blind—so I figured why not test my luck. Of course the small blind raised 10 bucks. Everyone called—so I called, too. The flop came queen-queen-six. I had three of a kind. I was shitting in my pants. Play it cool, don’t blow this one. The first few people checked, and then some one raised 10. Then, someone re raised 15 more. When it got to me it was 25 to call. Slow playing my had, I just called. Fourth street was jack. I think I jized in my pants when I saw that jack. It took everything in me to stop my legs from trembling with excitement. I had the absolute nuts. The best possible hand that can’t be beat. Everyone checked. I didn‘t want to run any one out of the pot and lose the chance to win more of their money--I wanted to bleed them slowly--so, I checked. Fifth St. was a 3. Some body bet 25. When it got to me, I went all in. Everyone folded. Next thing I knew 300 bones more than I walked in with was in front of me. Give me my monay I thought. Now, it was victory cigarette time. I got up from the table, walked out of the room, and lit up a cigarette to calm my nerves. I grabbed my phone and called my sister Zuzu. “Zuzu, I just won 300 bucks on a hand of poker.“ “No way!“ she said. “No, really, I did. I got three of a kind off the flop, and then, made a full house on fourth street. But hey, I gotta get back to the table. Call you later. Love you.“ I hung up the phone, put my cigarette out, and walked back to my chair at the table. I fucked around at the table for about 30 minutes. Unfortunately, my luck wasn’t as good as it was, and I lost 50 bones. I figured why not walk out while I’m ahead. This was something new and alien like to me. Nonetheless, I grabbed my chips, cashed out, and hopped in my car to make way once again. Driving back to the interstate, I called my mom. “Hey mom I’m back on the road.“ “Are you sure you’re good to drive,“ she asked. “Oh, yea. I’m totally fine. I really didn’t pull over to sleep. I pulled over in Biloxi to play poker. I won 250 bucks playing poker.? “Well, you know it’s just luck, Christian.? “No, it’s not Mom. It’s skill. But anyway, I‘m back on the road again. So, I call you next time I stop. Love you.? Click. I had no intentions of pulling over to sleep. I was on a war path. The wheel of fortuna was spinning in my favor. High off my win, and looking for another big score just like a junkie looking for a fix. The closet casino on my way was in Lake Charles. I couldn’t wait to test my luck again. I smoked a couple of bowls to reveal in the sweet feeling of victory. I threw my chariot into high gear and we roared down the road. Blaring Sublime. All windows down. Stop smoking weed, but keep eating adderall. Gambling, gambling, gambling, winning, winning, winning, mo monay, mo monay. It was around 7 AM when I reached the outskirts of Baton Rouge. The sun was rising, big and bright; an unwelcome sight to me in my cracked out state. Morning traffic started building up the closer I got to town. I wanted nothing to do with it. A black Impala with shiny rims and tinted windows flew by me. I sped up, following his lead. I mean, why not? He’s going so much faster than I am. Cops would pull his ass over before they pulled me over. We whizzed in and out of lanes, avoiding slow traffic at all costs. Kimsey lives in Baton Rouge. We used to date…kind of. I wouldn’t call it dating exactly, but we did have something between us. I liked her and she liked me, but she lived in Baton and I lived in Virginia at that time. I guess that’s why we never got serious. I would always stop and stay with her a night of two whenever I was going to school or headed home. Whenever I’d see her our relationship would pick right up where we left the last time we saw each other. But the last time we had any contact was over two years ago. I don’t know why we stopped talking. We just did. I guess it was my fault, in retrospect. I started dating Kristin, and just quit visiting and calling Kimsey. God, that was a mistake. Kimsey is much cooler than Kristin. Kristin just ended up being a head case/ alcholic. A royal pain in the ass, as it were. God, I’m glad Kristin and I aren’t dating anymore. All she did was bitch, bitch, bitch. She was always the one in the right, and I was always the one at fault. At least, that’s how she saw it. Then again, perception in subjective. You see what you want to see and believe what you want to believe. The last time saw her she had come to Houston to spend New Years with me. We went out new years eve. She wasn’t 21 yet so I had to use some favors to get her into a bar. Anyways, we went out, and she proceeded to get fucking hammered. And I mean hammered. We had to leave the bar by 12:15 because Kristin was so fucking drunk. The whole drive home she went ranting and raving, on and on, about how she hated me, and how I was such a shitty boyfriend. We got home, and she passed out. I paid for her ticket to visit me over new years and I didn’t even get laid new years night because she was so drunk. I thought fuck it, and went to bed. Around 4 in the morning, I woke because the bed was shaking. Kristin had just woken up from her drunken stupor, and was getting out of bed. She walked to the middle of my room, pulled her underwear down, and proceeded to piss all over my hardwood floors. She finished pissing and got back in bed like nothing happened. Fucking ridiculous. The day before she was suppose to go back to Virginia, she accused me of cheating on her, broke up with me, and caught an earlier flight home. Getting dumped has never made as happy as when she dumped me. I’d wanted out of the relationship for so damn long. I just hadn’t had the balls to end it myself. What a mistake and waist of time that was. After that shit I decided that if I’m not happy in a relationship, then the fact that I’m not happy is a good enough reason to break up. I came back to reality and out of my deep thought trance. I was thinking too much and not watching the road enough. Must focus. I check my rearview mirror—clear, nothing behind me. Then, I check my side view to see that the front of a state trooper car a lane over and a little behind me. I tapped my brakes. He turned on his sirens. Blue and red lights flashing, sirens blaring—flashbacks of my previous trips to jail filled my mind. I pulled over to the shoulder and stopped, the whole mean while fighting the fear that was quickly growing. A gigantic Negro stepped out of the state trooper car. He must have been 6’4? tall and weighed at least 250 pounds. I lit up a cigarette right a way. As he approached my car, I knew I was fucked. A huge nigger state trooper wasn’t going to give me shit for leeway, especially not to a total fucking rich boy honkey driving his Grandma’s Cadillac. In this situation he holds all the power, which is something rare in this day and age. “Do you know why I pulled you over?? “No Sir,? I said. “You were going 86 in a 70.? He eyed me down for a second, then said, “Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle so I can ask you a few questions?? I hopped out of my car, and walked toward the back of my car where he was standing. “Put your cigarette out in your car,? he ordered. I put the cigarette out on the ground and put the butt in my pocket so he couldn’t give me some bullshit littering ticket too. “Where are you going?? he asked. I said, “I’m headed to Houston, Texas.? He asked, “Why are you going there?? I told him, “I’m headed home. My family lives in Houston, and I’m going to visit them.? “Where are you coming from?? he asked. I said, “I’m coming from Camden, SC.? “Why were you there?? he asked. “Because one of my friends I graduated from college with decided to run for public office there. He asked me to run his campaign, so I moved up there and ran it.? Call it sleep deprivation. Call it the adderall. Either way, I continued babbling on about the campaign. “It was awesome. We were all 23 and no one took us seriously. We beat a 58-year-old man that was born in raised in the county we were running in for the Republican Nomination. We raised over 30,000 bucks. But, in the end we got our asses kicked in the general election by a democrat,? I said. “Who owns this car?? he asked. I said, “my grandmother.? “Why are you driving it?? I told him, “because she lets me drive it cuz I don’t have a car.? “Why does it have Florida plates?? he asked. “Because that’s where she’s from, and because in Florida they don’t have emissions testing…so I don’t have to worry about passing any them.? “Does she still live there?? he asked. “No, she lives in Houston?, I said. “Why does she live in Houston?? he asked. “She lives in Houston because my dad takes care of her?, I said. “O.K.,? he said, “Can I see your license, registration, and proof of registration?? “Yes sir,? I said. I got all the shit out of my car and handed it to him. “Wait in your car while I run it all,? he ordered. Sitting in my car, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette to keep my cool and take off the edge. Checking my rearview mirror constantly, I was thrilled when I saw another state trooper roll up to the scene. The 2nd state trooper got out, and was a wetback. I knew I was totally fucked now. There were two minority troopers. One of the troopers was a nigger and the other was a fucking Mexican. They were going to royally butt rape me, the pretty little white boy, and not even give me the graciousness of a little lube. The troopers talked with each other for a while. Then, in the nicest way possible, told me to get the fuck out of my vehicle for further questioning. They were standing between the back of my car and the front of the negro’s car. I walked to them. They handed me back all my paperwork. Then, they went through the exact same series of questions that the nigger cop had asked me earlier. They asked me…where are you going? Why are you going there? Where are you coming from? Why were you there? Who owns this car? Why are you driving it? Why does it have Florida plates? Where does your grandmother live? Why does she live there? Why not in Florida? My answers literally were, word for word, the exact same as the answers I gave the Negro cop earlier. So far, so good I thought. Then, the Mexican trooper looked at me, and asked, “Do you have anything illegal in your car?? I said, “No sir.? “Can we search it then?? asked the nigger cop. “No y’all can’t,? I said, “I’ve been driving all night to get home. And now, that I’m this close I’d like to just get back on my way and get home.? The Mexican cop said, “That’s fine.? Not knowing what else to say, I asked, “Well, what’s going to happen now?? The Mexican looked at me with a great big grin, and said, “We’re going to call a K9 unit in.? Jail seemed inevitable by now. This trip to jail would make an even half dozen. I had to think fast. The situation was escalating quickly, and was about to get ugly, possibly even violent. Time was running out. I had to use a wild card, and use it quickly. The first thing that came to mind was to be honest. I looked at the cops and said, “Let me save y’all the trouble. I have some marijuana in my car.? “How much?? they asked. With my thumb and index finger I made a circle about the size of a half dollar, and said, “This much.? The nigger said, “Go get it out of your car.? I walked to my car, grabbed the weed out of the center consol, and handed them the sack. They examined it, handed it back to me, and said to put it in my pocket. “Is there anything else illegal in your car?? they asked. “Yes,? I replied. “What?? “A loaded nine millimeter pistol is underneath the driver’s seat,? I said. “Is it yours?? “Yes sir, it is,? I said. The Mexican asked, “Why do you have it?? “Because I just traveled 1000 miles cross country by myself, and there’s a lot of dangerous folk out there. You never know who you might run into,? I said. “Don’t tell me that if you were in my shoes and just drove 1000 miles cross country by yourself that you wouldn’t carry a loaded pistol, too.? They flashed a quick grin at each other, nodded, and couldn’t help but agree. They told me they were going to search my car. I sat at the trunk of my car watching the Negro cop search my car and run my guns serial numbers, while the Mexican cop stood next to me watching my every move. I noticed that my shoe was untied, and asked the Mexican cop if I could tie it. He nodded and said ok. While I bent over to tie my shoe, he looked down at me, and asked, “Why, are you going to try to run?? I looked him right in the eyes, and said, “Sir, if I tried to run, I can assure you that you’d catch me.? He looked at me and smiled. We chit-chated for a little bit. Then, out of nowhere, the Mexican tells me to walk over to the woods. So, I walked to the edge of the woods. Then, he told me, “pull the sack of weed out of your pocket; now, dump it. But don’t throw the plastic bag on the ground cuz I don’t want to have to charge you for littering.? So, I dumped out the weed, put the bag back in my pocket, and walked back. The Negro was done searching my car by this time, and was standing next to the Mexican. The Negro asked, “Were you following anyone?? “No,? I said, “Why are you asking?? He said, “Because of the impala that was in front of you.? I said, “I was following the impala was because he was driving much faster, and I figured ya’lld pull him over instead of me. Why did ya’ll pull me over instead of him, especially since he was driving much faster than me?? They were dumbfounded and speechless. I said, “Let me take a stab at it. Did ya’ll pull me over because I’m driving a Cadillac with tinted ass windows, and Florida plates on I-10, which is the most heavily drug trafficked highway in America?? They looked at each other, grinned, and nodded simultaneously. I said, “Look, my Grandmother gave me this car, and it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned. But, I made the dumbest mistake the first day I had the car—I got the windows tinted as dark as I could. I can’t tell ya’ll how many times I’ve gotten pulled over cuz of it.? I looked them in the eyes, and said, “But, ya’ll have to admit, it looks pretty fucking cool.? They grinned and nodded. We laughed and joked for a few minutes. Then, the Negro cop piped up in a serious tone, “Do you know what the laws are in Texas about carry a loaded gun in your car?? he said. “No sir,? I said. He said, “It’s a felony in Texas. You can have a gun in your car, and can have a magazine filled with bullets. You just can’t have the magazine with bullets in the gun. The punishment is up to three years in prison.? He ranted on for a while longer building the fear in me. Finally, I asked him, “Are the laws the same in Louisiana as they are in Texas?? He looks at me, and says, “No, It’s perfectly legal in the state of Louisiana.? Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah! Shit was starting to work out. We all talked for about 5 minutes more, when out of nowhere, the Negro looks at me and says, “Mr. Zaleski, you’re free to go.? I was dumbfounded, and utterly speechless, which is a rare thing with me. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? “What?? I ask. “You’re free to go, just pull over at one of the next exits and get some sleep,? he said. “Thank you very much sir,? I said as I stuck out my hand to shake his hand. He looked at my peace offering and said, “I don’t shake hands.? I looked him straight in the eyes, and said, “Well, sir, then can I at least have a hug?? Both cops started bawling, laughing. In the light moment, I walked right to my car, got in, and took off. The first exit I saw I took, and drove straight into the waffle house parking lot. I needed a moment to calm my shaky nerves…to figure out what just happened. I walked in and ordered some food. While I was waiting I called my mom and told her I was going to eat and then sleep for a few hours. I told her to call me in 5 hours to make sure I was awake. I hung up phone, ate my food, and took off for Lake Charles. God was on my side. I knew he had to be—there’s no other explanation for the streak of luck I’d had so far. I won 250 bones earlier, and just got out of a situation that I thought would put me in jail for the sixth time. No one is lucky like that. I drove much more cautiously and listened to Sublime all the way to Lake Charles. When I got there I headed straight for the Harrahs riverboat. I got out of my car and went straight for the poker room. They told me there was a wait before I actually got to sit down. During that time, I walked around the table catching glimpses of the types of hands each player was playing, and what size bets they put on each of their hands. I studied their moves, their playing styles, and their betting styles. I did this for about an hour before I sat down at the table. I bought in for 160 bucks. Everyone was much older than me. A lot of old men that were regulars. They all knew each other’s names and talked about hands they had won and lost to each other over the period of time they had been playing together. I played tight, folding almost every hand while I get a feel for the table and players. It’s one thing to watch how a player plays; it’s another thing to play against that player. I didn’t want to jump right in and lose my money and break my streak. The one thing I liked about Harrahs poker room was that I got to smoke in it. And Smoke I did, cigarette after cigarette, chain-smoking. No one else at the table smoked, and I knew the smoke was bothering a few of them. Finally, one old man said, “Pardon me, but would you please stop smoking?? I look him in the eyes, and lit up another cigarette. A few minutes later the same old man said, “Could you at least blow the smoke away from the table?? I do what any kindhearted cutthroat poker would do in this situation, I blew smoke directly in his face, and said, “Old man, shut your trap or I’ll break your hip.? The table broke out in laughter. I found the confidence I was looking for. I realized that these guys played just as loose as when I was watching them earlier. I mean one-guy bet 40 or 50 bucks pre flop on every hand he plays, and he plays damn near every hand. I started calling him military man because he had a marine tattoo on his arm. The old men play tighter, but not by much. I started playing hands here and there, and started winning little by little. With each hand I won my confidence grew and grew. After a few hours, I had 275 bones in front of me. I had gradually almost doubled up. I knew I was ahead. I didn’t want to get greedy cuz when you get greedy you lose. But, I was looking to win more money than I already had. Anywho, I got queen jack suited, and decided to call the blind. Military man raised 25 bucks pre flop. Three other people called. So, I called, too. The flop came out jack, 6, and a 3. I checked. Military man raised 50 bucks. The old man who kept asking me to quit smoking called the bet. I had top pair—so, I figured what the hell, and called. Fourth street was a Ten. I checked again. Military man bet 75 bucks this time. I figured he was trying to scare us out of the pot, and he wasn’t doing a good job at it. I had already seen this guy blow 1000 dollars during the time I was at the table. The old man called. I had already gone this far so I figured I might as well pay and see the next card. Fifth street is a two. I checked. Military man bet 75 again. The old man raised to 100. My first instinct was to go all in, but I started second guessing myself. I stare right into the old man eyes. One of the other old men at the table who isn’t playing in the hand asked, “What in the hell are you doing?? I looked at him and said, “I’m getting a read on the old man over here.? The old men all start laughing, and one of them said, “No one ever gets a read on him.? I kept staring him down though. The whole time I thought about how I didn’t want to lose the money I already won. But I owed my sister 400 bucks, and well, I was there to gamble so why not take a chance. I pushed all of the 125 bucks that was in front of me to center of table, and said, “All in.? Military man called instantly, and old man followed his lead. We flipped over our cards. I don’t know what they had. All I know is that the dealer said I won with a pair of jacks, and that was enough for me. I won 550 bucks in one hand. I was about to shit in my pants, but played it cool. I called big blind the next hand, but folded as soon as someone raised. I grabbed a trey for my chips, put my chips in it, looked at everyone at the table, and said, “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure, but I gots to be going.? Then, I walked away, cashed out my chips for $825, and headed for my car. While I walked to my car, I called my mom, and told her the whole story. I told her about my run in with the state troopers for speeding, how they found my weed and loaded pistol, and how they let me go. Then, I told her how I gambled in lake charles and won 825 bucks on one hand and then walked away. She said, “Christian, that wasn’t luck—it was intelligence.?