No Drama

It had been a while since I had played NLHE. Maybe a month. And it may have been longer still since I had played with this group, the PAO folks at their new online home away from home. Many of the same old regulars with whom I wiled away hours upon hours once upon a time. For the most part, these guys take their game seriously and pay for the privilege to do so with like-minded souls for a monthly fee. I'm a bit rusty.

But I also find that I don't really give a crap. Never mind that I stole three of the half dozen hands I played, because I folded twice when I knew I had the best hand, and both times to the same guy.

"B...." he types into chat. I ignore him but he asks anyway. Questions about farming. Tomatoes, grapes, whatever. His purpose is complex, an addled mixture of whatever he's drinking and a desperate need for attention. I've had this dance with this guy a hundred times. He asks so he can tell. You know the type.

"Not farming any more." He has nowhere to go with this. I hit the flop and check. He doesn't and puts out a feeler. I fold.

A few hands later: "A deer was hit by a car and laid by the road for two days. Someone finally put a blanket over it. THAT'S ART."

"I'll make a note of it." Actually, I quite liked the idea.

"Art is BS."

Pause.

"B.... How come you're not farming?"

"Too busy making art."

I fold to his bet. He's punishing me.

I go make dinner.