Pedro had not tended his market stall for

Pedro had not tended his market stall for many weeks. Gambling had become an overwhelming addiction, to the point where he found himself choosing blackjack over bananas. The money
he lost only fed the demon more. It'd gotten so bad that he would get his grandmother drunk then steal money from her purse. If he'd won he'd pay her back, but he never won, he
always seemed to lose on the river. How many times can aces get cracked before a man gets suspicious? He began investigating the cardroom, and learned that the owner was a lousy
drunk with a thousand fingers in his pie. That metaphor was true on so many levels he, had to wash his hands, twice. The next time he played cards there, he wore gloves, and a gun
made of gold rose from
the fiery depths of hell, made in a swirling vortex of chaotic dust, as it would one day serve its true purpose and be used for
either douching or as a breath freshener. The jury was out, so it was marketed for both - but under different brand names, of course. Such was the common practice at the agency, to
look for any opening at times like that. Insecurity was always the go-to emotion for the agency to leverage when they needed strong brand penetration. Still,
penetration was penetration. It mattered not that it came without emotion or a nice dinner out. The agency
specialized in giving their clientele what they wanted, and she wanted a stimulating conversation about the decline of Rome and Britney Spears. That was what she received.

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