Four lines of prose about: the poker game.
I studied my hand with a furrowed brow, wondering how I was going to get myself out of this latest mess. I couldn't even remember how it all started. Probably with that ill-advised drink in the backyard just after breakfast.
"Amigo," the man sitting across the table from me snapped, bringing my attention back to the present moment, "stop cleaning out your damned fingernails and place a damned bet already!"