It is late one night in the city of risk. Lights, too many to count, line buildings corner to corner down along the boulevard, and the streets a conveyer belt of limousines and top-of-the-line luxury brands.
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Suddenly, double wood doors fly open!
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In walks a clean cut man clad in a white collared shirt and a crimson red, Windsor-knot tie. He is known as “Fresh Jack” and is one of the world’s best poker players.
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Atop of one luxurious hotel sits the penthouse hotel suite. Inside, a battle is being fought on a velvet green roundtable. Not a war of steel, but rather of plastic and neatly-sliced paper.
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It is the classic Godfather scene; shadowy room with pillows of smoke filling the air. At the rear of the room, surrounding the gilded-edge poker table, sit several men suited in their best attire each with a cigar leaning out of their mouth.
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“$200 in, come on!”
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The next day, Fresh Jack walks into Shady Farms Café. As he walks in, everyone turns towards him as if there were some sort of scene about him.
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He walks in, proud, and snatches the local newspaper and takes his seat. His table sits near the end of the bar. When he looks up, everybody turns away quickly as if they don’t notice him, but he knows they do. He smirks.
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He orders his daily usual: a cinnamon mocha hot and a croissant with butter glaze. But something seemes to be bothering him. He pulls out a Sterling Silver locket out of his pocket and begins to stare at it.
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In the center of the locket is emptiness. Normally a picture of a loved one or momento to one cherished is in this to fill the void, but his is empty.
