Pool-Western: Atlantic City Quarter

A Story by Abishai100

A waitress finds a prince in a secretly-gifted pool guy for a journey of changelings routed through an Atlantic City stage.

The Color of Money (Paul Newman) inspired pool-fable.

DISCLAIMER: This work of creative fiction contains images/references with no commercial/explicit ties to any representative person(s)/body (e.g., Atlantic City) and is therefore cast as purely a 'personal' expression for social art (for 'open' critiques).

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SALOON KEEPER: You know him?
WAITRESS: Comes in and plays alone, just takes shots for practice; some tricks.

SALOON KEEPER: Well, he's the right-stuff for our hosted tourney, yeah?

WAITRESS: He's cute (Selfie-like).

WAITRESS: What you wanted, right?

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Thanx for the trophy-cheer(s).

WAITRESS: You play your dad or something, got some Turgenev chip?

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Both shoulders...that last contender (Finals) was bad.

WAITRESS: He missed his last shot; you picked up your last 2 (sure).

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Wanna go to Atlantic City (with me), next week?

WAITRESS: I gotta work through Xmas, friend!

MR. AMLAN SATAN: I see you with me in the United Kingdom this Xmas, girl.

WAITRESS: You gonna win (again) in Atlantic City?

MR. AMLAN SATAN: I'm on a lucky-strip...this cream-chipped beef's the best, girl.

WAITRESS: You're a sweetie (good).

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Facebook-like!

It was that pool tourney, next to the saloon, hosted by the saloon and a diamond-company (Ion) in Autumn that introduced our protagonist waitress (Shelley) to a great pool-dude, Mr. Amlan Satan, who whisked her away to Atlantic City (Homeland-Jersey); and she learned about his world of IQ for billiards and the cool-slick of that felt-table of balls rolling with angles for strikes and changeling defense, maybe thesauruses with chance, and Amlan had a secret gift to it. Shelley was his trophy, as he saw it; she was a cool Catholic American lady, and pool was his first-love (a secret!).

SHELLEY: Here we are...I like that game 21.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: I hate gambling, but this Boardwalk town's got great shrimp!

SHELLEY: Sure, with cocktail sauce; you were a race-card drive in a past-life.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: A gypsy told me the same thing (wow).

SHELLEY: Let's get our palms-read, Mr. Amlan Satan (ok).

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Life's money (good Catholicism).

Amlan got a rented classic auto for the drive to Atlantic City; and he won that pool-tourney. He gifted the trophy to Shelley, but he made her promise they'd marry (when they left for the United Kingdom together). She wanted to buy him that rented auto, a great Volvo; it was something you'd see in a cyber-ad about the joy of driving, all its securities and what-not (sure).

GYPSY: I view your marriage, and maybe 2 bright younglings (children!).

AMLAN/SHELLEY: Maybe we'll stop drinking, ha.

GYPSY: Do not doubt fortune-tell, darlings...doubt for fate is bad for travelers.

AMLAN/SHELLEY: That's what we are...travelers, gypsy-lady?

GYPSY: You're (good) star-adults (visions of money).

AMLAN/SHELLEY: You're a cool Facebook-like (farewell).

Amlan and Shelley did make it to the United Kingdom that Xmas, as husband and wife. She made him promise her that he'd stop drinking and billiards-wandering. He picked up, or rather 'gathered' his gift at pool in college, playing alone, in his frat-basement late-hours on Saturdays (wow). That Xmas found our protagonist waitress-turned-princess (Shelley) marry her newfound Algerian-American (Catholic?) prince, Amlan Satan, and find something in UK-Xmas lights that you just can't randomly find necessarily, if you don't get some psychological wind in Atlantic City (maybe). That's all (Selfie-like).