The Noble Hustle: Poker, Beef Jerky, and Death

by Colson Whitehead

If I were an octogenarian looking for love, I’d hit the casinos, no question. The dating pool is quite deep.

I hadn’t been glared at with such hate by two people since couples therapy.

I preferred to work out like I eat beef jerky: making vulgar grunting noises sans witnesses.

Weeks passed, but my Word-A-Day Calendar was stuck on “motherfucker.”