A Flophouse—NIGHT
I am back in coat and hat, gliding through the Flophouse lobby, some of the homeless men are now playing Quarters and drinking boiler makers. Some Chinese cooks are also playing a videogame. I feel like college again.
As I pass the bums, I pull a quarter out of my pocket and smoothly bounce it into the grimy coffee mug being used as the “hoop.” The bums smile toothlessly and hand me a pint of rye, which I accept, take a stiff hit, and return.
Usually the loser drinks, I think. But, hey, who am I to argue?
The Chinese watch this camaraderie confused and laugh at the festivities.
“What’s with the drinking games?” One exclaims. “They’re all the same: you do or don’t do something so you have to take a drink.”
I smile and with a wave of my hand indicate the arcade games.
“True. It is all a game. Life. And what of your games? All these glorified, high tech versions of children’s games. You bat some electronic blip around and if you miss or don’t miss, what do you get? You get nothing.”
No comments:
Post a Comment