You walked into the pool hall for the second time that day.
The first time, the place had been empty. You knew that they wouldn’t be getting any clientele until after six, when people finished their dinners and decided to come in for a game or two. You, you were out to make enough money for your dinner.
You walked in with your instrument and headed toward the tables. There were some people there, gathered for a friendly game.
You weren’t friendly, though you acted like it, smiling at the people. “Anyone want to play?” you said, lifting your suitcase and placing it on the edge of one of the pool tables.
The group of men and women looked you over, and you, still smiling, screwed together your cue stick. “Fifty dollars if you beat me.”
A couple of men looked at each other.
“Okay, twenty-five.” Obviously not a bunch of high rollers.
“Twenty,” said one big bald man, pulling out the bill from his wallet and setting it on the side.
It was better than nothing. You peeled off a twenty from your fat roll of ones and set it on top of his. “Your break.”
You watched him break and sink a low instantly. He grinned at you, and started walking around the table. He sank a four. He tried to get a three in the side pocket but got jacked.
You then showed them what a real shark does.
You didn’t use any fancy moves, but you cleared the table of highs in fifteen minutes. Then the eight ball, and you looked up at the man. “Sorry, Charlie,” you said, taking the twenties.
“I’ll take you, double or nothing.”
Good, you thought. There was always someone in the crowd of locals who got pissed off that one of their local boys were going to get suckered in by a pool shark – and always that local boy would come up and try for a double or nothing. you set the two twenties down, and a couple of people rubbed the man’s shoulders. yout was your break.
You went after lows, just for variety. Hell, you could have taken out the lows in sequence if you wanted to show off. Your old man would have found these hicks as easy pickings, and you did too.
The guy didn’t even get a shot in as you scooped up his twenties.
Then a girl stepped up. She was in low cut a tank top and high heels, long hair almost down to her ass. She set down a hundred dollars and said, “I’ll take you on.”
Well, your old man would have been proud to see you not sweat. Her skirt was more like a sash across her middle region, and it moved seductively up her ass as she walked in those heels to get a cue stick.
“Since I’m a gentleman,” you said, “I’ll let the lady go first.” You saluted her with the cue stick and she stepped forward. She leaned over the edge of the table, her breasts swinging sweetly and lowly, nipples barely touching the felt, the cue stick seemingly coming out from between them.
She broke, and sunk nothing. Girls have no power when they shoot. You went after lows again. She stood at one corner, and as you looked down the cue stick to the cue ball, you were looking right at her pussy, that she had raised the skirt high enough for you to see the edges of her thigh-high hose. Any higher and you would be able to see her folds.
You looked up with your eyes and grinned at her, then shot at the four, sinking it. She pouted.
You walked around the table, picking off balls one at a time, at one time squeezing past her so close that you could smell a light musky perfume. She stood with the cue stick between her legs, leaning slightly forward.
You had the eight ball last. A cough came up from the crowd as you leaned over to hit the cue ball.
Again, you looked up with your eyes at her, and grinned. You flicked a glance at the hundred dollar bill. You leaned in and hit the eight ball.
Too hard.
Scratch.
Edited based on a prompt: “Shift one of your first person writings…into second person.” – The Writer’s Idea Book, Jack Heffron. Page 183.