He counted the cards in his hand, five: an ace of spades, a king of spades, ten of diamonds, nine of diamonds, and a two of clubs. His lips were terse and his eyes sunk deep into his head, staring at the hand he was dealt. Clearing his throat, he bunched the cards up, fanned them out, and bunched them up again, lightly tapping the small deck against the table. The game was poker, ace high, and John only had his land to back him up. John thought that if a man didn't have any money, well, at least he had his land. Now, even that was on the line.

"You 'bout ready there, John?"

"Why sure, I'm ready, 're you?"

Four other men sat at the table besides John, sunk in their chairs with cigars hanging loosely out of their mouths. Smoke gathered around John, hugging him tight.

The bet was set, the anti went out, and John followed the hands that wanted to retract a few cards, trading them in for something better. Trading them in for white picket fences, two children, and maybe even two cards. Trading them in for maybe a college education for their young ones.

John just sat and watched. The bets grew higher, each man putting out a couple of twenties on to the table.

Beads of sweat gathered on John's forehead and his hands, trembling, tried to keep the small deck of his cards in place. He leaned back in his chair, his feet flirting with a pole underneath the table, and proudly claimed, "Well, fellas, you can just count me on out."

Throwing his cards out on the table, in the open, he slowly walked away, one limping leg in front of the other. The men didn't even look up - they just kept on playing, kept on trading in what they didn't have with hopes that the profit would return with something they could have.