Box cars and snake eyes, the Boston, full-house, five-book no-trump uptown, six-book hearts-trump downtown. The kitty's full -
"Sapphire! Where's my wallet? Where's my claim to acclaim?"
Four cards, one to draw, one short of the flush. Amos in the cab, two hours on his meter - "Hey G" grinning to
"I don't roll like that, 'G.'" Calhoun says,
"The price of the ticket is the eradication of obfuscation of damnation and petrification of sublimation in the nation." Man, roll the damn dice . . . Black/
Twenty on the table. I don't want no hit. Soon as I'm able, I'm going for the split. Hit Me!
"Sapphire. O, Sapphire, my Jubilee."
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|Author:||Weaver, Afaa Michael|
|Publication:||African American Review|
|Date:||Mar 22, 1999|
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