A lot of people (read: wienies) couldn't make it for Leo's home game last Friday, just four around the table but it was good fun anyway. Mostly for me. I won a couple of hands. Maybe two or three. Or fifty or sixty. Hey, who has time to count when you're so busy stacking chips? So I cleaned everybody out; that's what Christmas is all about. Don't worry, I took enough abuse about it. Anyway, thanks for hosting, Leo!
People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m
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