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WE OF ONE BLOOD

by

Tracy Price-Thompson

I savor the memory of that last good day. Can still hear the slapping sounds of red-back Tally Ho's as they slid across the Formica tabletop in a blizzard of colorful quadrilaterlas. Can feel the energy readtiating from his eyes as he studied his hand with analytical intensity. And then I saw it . the telltale tucking of his bottom lip, snagged betwen his teeth in anticipation. Man. He had our butts. It was all over but the shouting.

"Seven, " he said. "No trump."

He was a Whistologist, of that there was no doubt, but today there was going for broke, playing with a particular fury, risking all wrath and coming this close to going out the dreaded back door. Bidding high and taking his partner out, lettting skill and genius rule. He would lead with the big joker today. Today, he would play to win. Play like it was the last game of his life.