to win, stop wanting what’s withheld
The train above rattles coffee cups in a dim shoppe known as Shakers. I arrive on time and saunter back to a booth half-filled with players.
Game’s changed since last you played old man, he lifts a fist of diamonds. I intend to keep you from your wants, with wealth against your wisdom.
Ignore the rudeness, leave, speak up: only the third choice left no victim. His cards are played with value added by the desire that I give them.
The human heart is worth much more than any spawn of heat and carbon. So too the hands you hold are cold as a horde of printed diamonds.
I take my leave and exit the shoppe with a pocket of coins for the train. They have no hearts but cards to win and weapons to grow just like them.
( Rhetorica: expeditio, akin to disjunctive syllogism. Listing alternatives, then eliminating all but one. I could ignore their rudeness, leave, or speak up about it. Only the third option left no victim. )
