The Oval Altar

We sit silently around the oval altar suspicious of players, heads bowed, hunched over game masters, calculating the odds of success. Old men, mature women, young studs, and young women, buffers all, experts at their craft. Each with a plan to lay waste on anyone that dare challenge their superiority.

Each one has their own tale to share, whether of triumph or of being defeated by misfortune, Moirai, the mother of destiny.

Each hidden behind a wall of lies. Platitudes, crooked smiles and a pat on the table.

The flop, the turn, the river… a microcosm of winners and fish.