Pool
...t is, and a curious young fellow, I couldn’t keep myself away for too long. So, one day after school, I decided to mosey on over to “Billiards,” as they called it. At first glance it’s as though you are entering just another pool hall. The same clueless teens outside smoking cigarettes, the hustlers with their smooth talking, negotiating a “game price,” and the elderly clerk behind the counter. The elderly clerk was actually the owner, Jindo. He was a good-hearted old man, but crooked none the same. Too cheap to hire even his own daughter, he was there everyday from open to close. My first step into Billiards I ran into a grimy Albanian named Albon. Albon was an annoying, fast-talking hustler that loved nothing more than to run his mouth. He talked, and talked, and talked… then talked some more. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him, because I’ve never met someone that could talk so much yet have so little to say. He asked me for a game and requested a price, knowing his type, I refused. I stayed at Billiards that day from 2:30pm to 2:30am shooting pool almost straight through the twelve hours that I was there. At around 8:00pm all the trash seems to surface at Minnesota; gang members, drug dealers, drug users, drop outs, and everyone that is no one, all seem to congregate at “Billiards.” After sun down, Minnesota Billiards turns from an average pool hall into a refuse driven entity known as “The Billiards.” A few weeks after my first experience at Billiards, the pool hall that I regulared, known as Son of River City, shut down. This caused me to spend a littl...