the smuggler’s bible


Maxie’s opponent is standing down the line, swaying unsteadily with a dazed look on her face. Suddenly, her eyes focus. A hand whips out in a scooping motion and the ball hits the ramp soundlessly.

The arc is beautiful. Arcade lights glitter in slow motion on the spinning patina of palm sweat and grease. Then the ball drops like a stone and disappears into the black well labeled “500.”

“What is this drunken master shit?” Maxie mutters. She squares up on her own board and whispers a quick prayer. Because, come on, there’s luck and then there’s luck, you know?