Hot damn — I just made a cool grand shooting dice against some shipping department flunkies down in Luddite, Crapstone & Fuchs’ basement.
The best part is how the shipping supervisor, “Big” Henry Duboise, cried like a woman after $400 of his money wound up in my pocket. Something about how he had mouths to feed, and his grandmother was in the hospital, and it was a week’s pay, ad nauseam. As if it’s my fault that he: A) bet more than he could afford, B) got married and had kids, and C) accepted a job that only pays four C-notes a week. Might as well bitch to a fire after you willingly shove your hand in it.
Anyhow, I’m off to Boobs-a-Poppin’ to spend my winnings on martinis, chicken wings, and lap dances. Much better than the rent, food, and medicine that Duboise would’ve wasted it on. Ciao.