| Forever |
[06 Jul 2009|09:55pm] |
A pool cue cracked on a white ball. It sent the others scattering. A green stripe rolled into a side pocket and Rhiannon straightened to watch the others. Between her fingers, she fiddled with the chalk. "You're a fucked up guy, making me play pool with a broken wrist." Across the felt, she saw her friend burning a cigarette. The smoke added to the haze in Firewater, a pool hall and bar with purplish paint on the walls and low lighting. To illicit sympathy, she held up her splinted wrist. The bones of a Slayer healed quickly. They felt worlds better than yesterday and the day before. She flexed her fingers to get circulation going. She figured an emergency room trip for a busted wrist and a punctured leg was a small price to pay for living through it.
"You're solids." She tossed the chalk and waited for Whistler to make a move.
"Consider it training. Get used to handlin' wood in awkward situations." The hatted man studied the table intently, as if willing mental dotted lines to line up from the cue ball to easy shots. None were completely bankable, but he was undeterred. "Three, side pocket." He eased the cue forward, inching the white ball off the left bank and tapped his target. It touched the pocket and held firm.
He stepped back from the felt, reached over to the raised table and took the soft-pack in his hand. Whistler shook out a cigarette and lit it. "You gonna tell me more about the fight, or just leave it at 'She's dead, Jim'?"
( Not So Simple )
( He's Gone )
( Turkish Prison )
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