Life's Not Fair

I queried quizzaciously for the cue. My brother backhanded it sharply and I soon stuck my hand down to feel the roundness.

Soon balls rolled lazily across verdant felt to softly leathered holes.

I wasn't sure what in life had gotten us to playing pool in a barbershop. Long hair? A longer line? Probably.

Once I decidedly took a steep risk. I chanced greatness: fixed eyes locked upon a target watched dejectedly as a solid ball was nicked by my medium. So it goes. I thought the shot was magnificenter than it was, simply. Oh well.

Apparently God had decided now was the time for a lesson. So He came down, surprisingly as He always does, in a magic eight ball that prevented my pursuit of a pool career.

I would later that day read a book about life in gangs. But in my stupid foolish childish mind it was an almost miraculous billiards shot that taught me life wasn't fair.