Literature
The Gaff (Re-post.)
I’ve been here about an hour in this rat-hole for the infirm, and finally the old man pulls out the cards. He mucks about a bit and flutters the deck. He hardly shakes at all and when he does, he adds some bizarre flourish to distract the eye. My old man, such a fucking pro. You'd never know he was sick. His voice is liquid cool as it pitter-patters along at breakneck speed, the cards slapping and him grinning, I don’t listen. Something’s cracked inside and I dive through the crevice, out of my body, into a much younger and frailer self – into a furious and sick, six-year old boy. I smell booze and Aqua Velva. I am in