"Red or Black"

In casino insides, the lost bleed money and among them stands Jimmy, far from break-even point, holding the last chance to break away from a rotten fate.

"Wait," he warns while calling all the deities.

"I need to clock-out man," frets the croupier on the brink of exhaustion, "and you are dry. Just let me dabble, and go join another table."

"You can't do this to me! Your name is Jim, like the dog I had during my teens. He always brought me luck."

"Told you, man. We use 'nyms."

"We have the same age! 31! And, and, July's horoscope predicted that close mates will bring me luck."

"We ain't man," he shouts before quickly toning down under his approaching supervisor glare, "I will give you one bit of luck," he then discretely spells a phone number, "gives them a call tonight."

"You are the best!" claims Jimmy, trying to hold his hands but received a cold one.

"I'm out now, this is your last bet. Red or Black," last calls the croupier before hurling the ball on the roulette.

"Black!" shouts Jimmy.

***

In hotel insides, the arids lose their sleep and among them hides Jimmy in the closet, while gruelling sound-steps arise at the door ajar.

"Where is the broke rat?" grumbles the owner while his steward tames the flames, "Dickingly! I know where you are hiding! Com'here so I kick you ass'out!

"He already left... Maybe?"

"I swear, I saw him crawling in the hall."

"Looks," notices the steward while grabbing the room's card on the floor, "without it he won't be able to use lights and AC, or even shower."

"You think rats care about it? Next day, I will find my mattress and towels sold on the avenue. Damn! Let's go to the CCTV."

Jimmy leaves the closet a moment later. The panic hits his face, as his shoulders get flattened with the shame, as his pockets got flatten with losses. But he remembered the silver line, the number given by the croupier, and quickly grabs the phone. A calming melody embraces his temples, soothing his pain until an articulated voice erupts.

"Do you want to go back in time?"

"Ye- yeah," answers timidly Jimmy.

"The time where you had time and money."

"Yes! Yes! Oh! Yes!" shouts Jimmy while fisting vigorously the air.

"Then meet us next Wednesday at the Gamblers Anonymous, we will be waiting for-"

Jimmy hangs up in fumes.

"He fucked me! That croupier. I will find him. But, but, I need to enter the Casino, and without money...." he then looks at the towels, "Maybe?"

Full of nerve or missing of them, Jimmy, blinkered by fear, slowly walks out from the main entrance, but obviously get called out by the thunderstruck owner who was just talking with a cop in front of the CCTV.

"It's him! Jimmy Dickingly!"

The cop marches slowly, but it was too much for Jimmy's mind which lost all reasoning capabilities. They both set off on a chase. Rain is pouring outside, adding an unnecessary dramatic mood for the beggars along the sideways, while cups fills more with tear drops than coins. Paradoxically unexpectedly, Jimmy was astonished by his cardio, but not the cop who knocked him cold on the bitumen.

***

In police car insides, the cooled one expects a warm way out and wakes up Jimmy, handcuffed with a sore nose.

"Hi mate," welcomes the old, frail, hairy and dirty energumen, "quite a nap, you had. Sorry for the wake up call."

"Oh my god! I'm en route to jail," freaks Jimmy.

"First time? Don't worry," he temporizes, "today is a special day, I got a way out," he concludes with a flabby fart.

"Oh god, please no!" pleads Jimmy on the verge of vomiting.

"30!" he shoots while pressing another one.

"Mister Officer! Officer! Help me!" screams Jimmy with peppery tears, the face stuck on the car window. Unfortunately, the cop is cherry picking the sausage of his hot dog and the pouring rain doesn't help Jimmy to be heard.

"Boy, don't you want to another chance?" he asked seriously, "Trust it," he continues while his faces get pressed like a lemon, "and 31".

From under the butt of the old man, a dark cloud devours his body into dust, and the smell disappears. Jimmy's anxiety manifests, and he lets one go. Suddenly alone, deep in despair, the faintest sign of hope gives him wings. He then starts flapping in the car like a madman, crushes his entrails like a bagpipe, popping them by the dozen, close to shitting himself.

"5! 11! 18! 20!" he shouts, "and 31!"

***

"Red or Black," calls the croupier.

Sucked up back into the game, Jimmy overlooks the betray from past timeline, and puts the final order in a hurry to make gains.

"All in, Red!"

The croupier rewards him, and leaves the table while Jimmy counts the chips. The smile carves itself on his face like watermelon's stripes.

"Boy?!" quavers an old man, "It's you! You made it!"

The old police car's mate was standing in front of Jimmy, revolutionized. Cracked crocodile shoes, slim silk trousers, a large jeweled brown belt that split his fatty stomach like Moses and the Red Sea, bling blouse opened on an Amazon like hairy chest, shoulders covered by skunk fur, fingertips blued by an overwhelming number of golden rings, and overall still dirty hairs.

"Come here!" he asks before realizing that Jimmy is stunned, "Alright, alright, on my way!"

The rich old man advances like a duck, clenching his butt cheeks, wobbling his luxurious fat and the sweats rolling on it, paced by the sounds of his leather underwear stretching.

"How much?"

Jimmy looks at his chips.

"65,58"

"Damn!" shouts the old man, "Way too poor. I was wrong about you. You are not here for the money, you wanted to show that croupier, who was in charge!"

"Not really", wonders Jimmy, "it doesn't really matter now, right? I was so focused to be ahead of others, that i lost to myself. Thinking about all the thing I could have done, for me..."

"But you still have time, and money", intones the old man, "and we are in the perfect place, for you..."

"That's not what I meant," confirms Jimmy, "I will join the Gamblers Anonymous, and let it all go."

Jimmy relieves himself from the dooming chase of wealth, takes a deep breath and rips it.

***

In police car insides, Jimmy is alone, handcuffed. The derailed timeline has been restored, and he contemplates his serene gaze on the rear-view mirror. A dark cloud emerges near him.

"Damn! That fart, man! Was atrocious. The smell, the sound, the fume. It slapped me so hard, I went weak," laughs the old man pruned of past time riches, "I laughed so hard, I ripped one too. And here we are, back to the master timeline."

"I am sorry."

"Nawh, don't be. The farthest you goes back, the harder it is to hold it. I knew what was coming. Time traveling is a serious matter! One fart too many is a butterfly flutter too many."

"That's instructive," doubts Jimmy, "Thank you for the trip nonetheless."

"A pleasure! And if you get lost again, let's meet up on 31 July next year, same time, same place, and rip it through time."

Jimmy answers with a quiet nod.

"By the way, what's your name boy?"

"Jimmy."

"No way! like my dog!"