On a warm summers evening, on a train bound for nowhere, i met up with the gambler, we were both to tired to sleep. So we took turns staring, out the window, at the darkness. The boredom over took us and he began to speak, he said son i made my life, outa reading peoples faces, knowing what their cards were, by the way they held their eyes, and if you don't mind me saying, i can see your out of aces, for a taste of your whiskey, i'll give you some advice. So i handed him my bottle, and he drank down my last swallow, then he bummed a cigarette, and asked me for a light. The night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression, he said if your gonna play the game boy, you gotta learn to play it right.
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You gotta know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away, know when to run. You never count your money, when your sitting at the table, there'll be time enough for counting, when the dealing's done.
Now every gambler knows, the secret to survival, is knowing what to throw away, and knowing what to keep. Cause every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser, and the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.
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Now when he finished speaking, he turned back towards the window, crushed out his cigarette, and faded off to sleep. And somewhere in the darkness, the gambler he broke even, and in his final words i found an ace that i could keep.