I was waiting, which makes for great watching. In that it was at the airport, it was even better. A young man approached, slicked down hair, jeans and hoodie, and asked a neighbor waiter if he might have an extra smoke.
The young man had a look about him, one I had seen before: furtive, figuring, running the numbers. He smoked the bummed cig with some urgency, and with his free hand practiced rolling a quarter over its knuckles.
He played. I just knew he played. He just hadn't gotten it down yet, is all.