Play the damn game right.

The dog barked all weekend. Constant. Frenzied. Like it was trying to dig through the hole behind the bin from the other side.

I shut the windows. Put on headphones. Played white noise. Rainstorms. A fireplace. Nothing worked.

Thought about going for a run this morning. Clear my head. But I didn’t want to feel my heart. So I took a deck of cards to the pub.

The King had just opened. Smelled like bleach and beer lines.

There were a few regulars already at the bar, scattered and slow. I nodded and held up the cards. “Invented a game,” I said. “Easy to learn. Quiet. Tactical.”

One of them grunted. Another shrugged. But we dragged two tables together and played.

I lost the first round. Easy done. Beginner’s luck.

Second round, I played a weather card too early. Was trying to show them the rule about discarding.

Laughed it off as they fluked more wins.

By the fifth round, I was getting annoyed.

“It’s a slow-burn game. You’ve got to let it breathe. You’re playing too fast. Use the weather cards! Think!”

Sixth round, another loss. They were playing it wrong. It’s not just a cheap flush game. There’s strategy. Depth. But they ignored all that. Don’t even try.

Seventh round, I lost again. Idiots. They won’t listen.

They laughed. Sloppy Ben called it “a thinker’s game for people who don’t think much.” Some other soak said I should have stuck with Snap.

I laughed back. At them.

They bought me a pint as a thank you. I didn’t want it. Got my own. Don’t need pity.

Went to the corner table and opened my phone. No calls. No emails. Could hear them all whispering.

Stayed for a few more. At least no dogs in there.

On the walk home, I watched my feet. Listened for barking.

Wondered what sound Sloppy Ben’s neck would make if it snapped.

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