Let me get this out of the way: I cheat at cards. I like doing it, I’m not going to stop doing it, and I don’t care if you disapprove. I don’t cheat poor people, because they don’t have any money and nobody really minds if you take a rich person to the cleaners; but it’s my job to separate a fool from his money, and I’m good at it. Don’t like it? Stop reading.
Still here? Excellent. You’re clearly a discerning reader. So let me tell you about how I cheat at cheating.
The poker game at the Oasis was down to four, after the rest of us had genially divided up the fifth’s money between us. And I was thinking about letting the other three fight it out; the fifth had been a real good pigeon from the west, nice and fat and even good-natured enough about being skinned in a ‘real Outlands poker table.’ The pigeon was now at the bar, having a whiskey in a dirty glass, and pretty soon he’d be going upstairs with one of Mrs. Annie’s girls. He had gotten what he wanted out of the evening; why couldn’t I?
I should probably mention here that the fellow wasn’t an actual pigeon. Just to avoid any potential confusion.