Where do you go? What do you do the night

Where do you go? What do you do the night after you save the universe?” Especially if nobody even knows you did? Walt knew. He went to the only dive in NYC where he could

truly unwind. He drank in Alphabet City because it felt like the only neighborhood that no one noticed him, but he stuck out from the dingy residents in his stylish Italian

leather shoes and perfectly manicured and clean nails. He sat at a pub located right in the center of town. He was alone yet surrounded when a women, somewhat younger than he, walk

by and he remains silent. Alone, in a pub filled with people. His desire to speak blocked by some invisible force, a terrible thought that clogs his throat, so that he averts his e

ttern as if warning him to leave the casino. But nothing would make him hesitate. As the lights blink in unison, and the poker chips clatter, he places down his last bet: His soul.

Satan, or "Stan" as he was called, licked his lips greedily. "Now... are you sure you want to bet your soul?" Stan clasped his hands and smiled. "Yes." "Alright." he slid his poker

stick--which is just a polite term for his Devil's, you know, Rod, or Johnson. Oh, yes, the Devil had a Royal Flush, and even though his opponent had four Aces, he knew his soul

was worth much more than the pot. The pot didn't know anything or nothing depending on which way the winds were blowing. Both sides knew that going in, or at least they should have

. Since they weren't related to John Snow. But the pot was busy calling the Kettle black. The kettle got a really good lawyer and sued for racial discrimination.