Lime Fingers
2:07am... Las Vegas. My sticky fingers smell like limes. I had been squeezing limes in order to get enough juice out of them before I'd toss one down a flight of stairs and try to get it in a trash can. I won $20 from Otis on consecutive nights on Throwing Things prop bets. I'm stuck over $200 for the entire WSOP, but I'm slowly chopping away at my debt. We had a group of media watching such as members of the international French and British press who were fascinated with our degeneracy. Even the Pokerati crew of Michalski and the Fresh Princess were curious about our post-Midnight drinking and gambling activities.
2:07am... 24 hours earlier, I sat in the Gold Coast casino at a Pai Gow table with Nicky and Otis. We unpatiently waited for a waitress to bring us cocktails. She was one of the slowest that I had ever experienced in Las Vegas. Otis was visibly rattled after he won a $250 bonus with a straight flush. All the cracker wanted was a Greyhound. Grapefruit juice and 1/2 a shot of well vodka. Could you blame him? He worked hard all day and was finally able to kick back with friends. He made a rare hand at the Pai Gow tables and nailed a bonus. He wanted to celebrate with a cocktail. But the slow-ass, trailer park, mullet-breeder never stopped by our table. The only solution was to run over to the bar and pay for drinks. It only cost $11 for a beer, a Greyhound, and a White Russian for Nicky. In NYC or in Hollywierd, $11 is the norm for one drink.
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