Poker face.

It's been five days since I've visited these ladies.


It's been a very fast five days for me.


I've done a bit of dropping out, and dropping in.


I'm spending more time kinetically. I'm outside a lot, even when it's been hot.


I've dropped out of checking my blog. 


I no longer subscribe to cable tee vee. 


I'm now only streaming netflix. Damn that new pricing plan.


I don't feel I need to feel quite so connected to the idea of feeling connected.


And despite all of this disconnection, I'm very informed. I know all about the debate about the debt ceiling. Too much, I think.


You don't have to be connected to be connected any more.


That being said, let's just say that's enough about me for now. Let's just say it's all about time.


And now let's see what's going on with our two fictional friends.

No one expects certain things from old ladies.

No one would think an old woman would mug an old lady for her purse.

No one would suspect that anyone who wasn't on meth, especially an old person on meth, would knock off a 7-Eleven for the cash drawer.

And no one would expect a septuagenarian to be good at 21.

Maisie didn't really count cards. She just had a particular sense. And when a dealer isn't dealing from a 6-deck shoe, when there's just one or two decks to a round, when you sit far to the dealer's left, so much the better.

In Maisie's case, at the Cat's Paw in Bozeman, with an hour or so left to go before the funeral, she was in her element.

She was just playing some cards.

She split when she had two sevens and the dealer had a 3. She doubled down whenever she could.

She had a bit of a stake, tucked between her breasts, thanks to Mrs. Clark Thompson.

Maisie had replenished her stake three times over. She converted her chips to bills very unobtrusively, and she tucked the bills between her money makers whenever everyone at the table was distracted with the shuffle of a new deck or the arrival of a fresh round of free beverages.

She had over three grand in her cleavage, and no one knew but her and the lord.

Stella had no time for the folly of spirits or distraction. She loved to chat with the folks at the table, and everyone was patronizingly awed at Maisie's streak of good fortune.

Maisie was over the moon, and no one knew that she knew exactly what was happening.

She prided herself on her poker face.

Maisie appreciated the irony. Because she was playing 21.