Athens, GA:

After driving south on interstates 95 and 85 for almost eleven hours (through Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina and South Carolina) I arrived in Athens, Georgia on the eve of Andy Reid's gutsy game-on-the-line who-drew-this-up 4^th and 15 play call, still filled with hope. Mike, a friend from home since middle school, moved down here from Philadelphia roughly a year ago. He's working at a local restaurant and living with a UGA business school student (and football nut) named Alister, as well as Alister's girlfriend Sabrina. Upon arriving at their place, I ate a little bit of pasta that they'd made earlier, and we went out into the college town night to see a Guns-n-Roses cover band - dressed appropriately in 80's hairs and sneers. I can't say too much for the music. Fake Axle and Fake Slash stayed after the show talking to some ladies, many of whom, in their early 20's, as seems the local custom, are probably already engaged, married, or grandparents. The streets teemed with caucasian college students, and awfully pretty girls. As the clubs closed, we gathered into Allister's car and head for a Waffle House, feeling adequately southern. The hashbrown menu is ample, even if the potatoes themselves are not.

As Mike explains to me, in Athens, “they like their bar games”. Whether it's billiards, darts, poker, watching football, or drinking beer, there's work to be done. On Sunday night, we played poker with some of Mike and Allister's more colorful friends. Wayne, our host, some amalgam of Ronnie Van Zandt (RIP) and Al from Home Improvement, was already good and drunk by the time of our arrival. He was quite hospitable, and self deprecating as to the consistencies of his misfortune - earlier that night he'd lost an $120 coin flip to Robin, the third of three bearded fellows (his is, fittingly, red) amongst our group of seven. Some gamblers just always seem to bring along their own shovels. But hey, god bless em if they're willing to laugh a little whilst they're a-diggin'... Wayne even managed to not get too upset when, he and myself being the last two folks in on a particular hand, another player prodded me to call an apparent bluff. An indicative appearance.

In the end I finished the night up $15, the first time I've ever done anything but lose quickly in playing poker. It made my insides feel kinda warm, tingly; but that was probably just the wad of singles pressing shyly against my left thigh. I walked back to the car, smiling like a born-again stripper, in the wee morning hours, a pocket's full of tips.