The crack

a bit hungry, but felt like writing

The crack of the cue ball hitting a fresh nine ball rack with a good stroke would send chills down many a spine. It was music to my ears. And i was that guy, yea that guy showing off in the middle of the pool table, at least with the loud break. I had a few good racks, relatively consistent with a decent position. The break shot from the back of the rack with the corner ball going into the side pocket-that shot was becoming easy.
I needed a fresh look at things, a creative boost in another department. What was mostly necessary was being able to shoot without bias, without though or complaint. Its like building without rules, screaming without volume, punching the gas on a go kart and hitting the turn without brakes. That happened this week too, but no one can get enough of that anyway.
It was a payday present to myself. But it wasnt the usual pool hall experience, my rusty memory of the smoky place, ridiculously loud music and friendly hostess seemed to fade a little for a silent three hours of no nonsense shooting. I could use a little company sometimes, i think i spend way too much time alone to be honest. Maybe that stark idealist, maybe i havent figured it out yet, ever the humble gentleman, the nomad and warrior haha.

And this old man on the train, looked like Mr. Miyagi and Sam seed rolled into one. His dirty grey que stuck out of a hole in a beat up old skully. He flexed and stretched like a crazy drunken master and he looked like he lost 3 of his fingers on his right hand fighting the good fight. 'Hav god dag!' streamed out of of his drunken lips, wet from the foam of a can that he couldnt open properly. I made up a story in my head about him, he couldnt just be a vagabond, and homeless stranger. He had to be this warrior, down on his luck, maybe missing some old lady lost in the passage of time. He fought many a battle, drunken style, maybe eagle claw..and his three strong fingers were a akin to that. 'Hav god dag' in an asian danish accent, the old master stammered. I wonder if i could have learned something from him. He could have showed me how to strengthen my hands by crushing beer cans he drank. The story was great. The ride home was sleepy and quiet, and the next day would be just as quiet.

Time for ice cream, time for legoland.

and i should mention oktoberfest somewhere. but thats another story.