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June 17, 2005

Stacy: The Watcher

I sit at the bar, watch the action, wait for trouble.

The little old man with the wild hair and wilder jacket tosses the dice, does a little jig when he wins.

Casino traffic surges around the table. The little old man waits until it subsides. He restlessly shakes the dice in his right hand, always carefully in view of the croupier.

A woman turns and walks away from the table. She's been there about fifteen minutes, watching the action, saying nothing. The little old man stops shaking the dice, curses her loudly. He throws, loses.

I order another drink.

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