The weekly tournament happened twice a week and all the local sharks came out for it. And the wing specials. I was registering teams, assigning them tables and keeping track of who got beat and who went on. It was mostly boys. The winners were the worst, strutting over to ask if I saw this or that. “Could’ve won it with two simple draw shots but went for a kicker in the corner instead, and then a massé around the stripe—you catch that, sweet thing?” I didn’t ever answer. They wanted me to smile. Wanted to get close. Asked what brought me here. Begged me for answers. I kept quiet, staying a riddle to them. The bartender, Amanda—she believed in me. She said I could sleep on her couch until I found my own place. She was trying to help me out by putting up posters in her windowless bathroom, inspirational pictures paired with rock ’n’ roll quotes. A dolphin jumping out of the ocean: Break On Through to the Other Side! A kitten hanging from a tree branch: Don’t Let Me Down.
