The driver quickly runs out of change and moves onto bills. He has lost count, but figures he is safe as long as he sticks to the roll of ‘ones’ in his pocket. He never thinks to ask for change.

Drinks keep coming, although a single sip is enough of a distraction to miss an entire whip-around the table. That’s also why talking is shied away from; only grunts, exaggerated laughter, and pained moans when money is lost to the pot. Otherwise, it is the steady ‘click-click-click’ succession of cards being laid out on a deep forest felt.

The driver is surprised when the third glass of sickly syrupy liquor is placed beside him by yet another tightly aproned girl. This one is brunette and chubby. He doesn’t have time to look up, just a quick grunt and a dollar bill thrown her way without ever taking his eyes off the table.

Jack (hearts), Ace (hearts), King (spades), Ace (diamonds, if a sacrifice has to be made, it’s best to do so with the lowest card), Queen (spades), and so on, as fast as one can say them.

Despite the fact that each hand only takes a few minutes, an hour and three quarters have already passed. The driver glances at his neighbors watch while he empties his drink.

“Ay! Get a good look der, nancee boy.” A scruffy man with a thick accent and a thicker patch of chest hair coming through a half-buttoned shirt is breathing down on him with a citrusy stench of gin.

“What’s goin’ on?” The pink-suited man has to put a halt to play -it was his turn- to find out what the outburst is for.

“Dees sonnofabeech ees lookin at my cards.”

The driver does not have to stand up to feel the swim of drunkenness rise to his head. His only concern is whether he is up or down money-wise. It’s hard to tell. He won a number of medium-sized pots, but the speed with which the game forces one to constantly cough money into the middle makes it seem like much has been lost. To a slightly woozy eye, the pile of bills in front of the driver has neither grown nor shrank, at least not for a while.