I remember my father being much taller. Much broader. Much more intimidating. I’m a little disappointed.

Actually, I’m a lot disappointed. I’ve always hated the motherfucker, but the memories I have of him made me think he was invincible. Which made me feel like maybe I got a little of that from him. But seeing how he’s turned out really puts a fucking wrinkle in my pride.

“Hey, kid,” he says, snapping his bony fingers. “You got a smoke?”

My eyes meet his and he’s staring at me, trying to bum a cigarette off of his only fucking child, and he doesn’t even recognize me. Not even a little bit.

“I don’t fucking smoke, asshole.”

He chuckles and holds up a hand, palm out. “Whoa, there, buddy. Bad morning?”

He thinks that was me having an attitude? I turn a chip over in my fingers and lean forward. “You could say that.”

He shakes his head and we’re silent for the next round of bets. An older chick with tits more wrinkled than my old man’s knuckles sidles up next to him and puts her arm around him. “I’m ready to go,” she whines.

He sticks his elbow out to shove her off of him and says, “I’m not. I told you I’d find you when I’m ready.”

She whines some more until he pulls a twenty out of his pocket and tells her to go play some penny slots. When she’s gone, I nudge my head in her direction. “That your wife?”

He chuckles again. “No. Fuck no.”

I flip my first card over. It’s a ten of hearts. “You ever been married?” I ask him.

He brings his hand up to his neck and pops it, but doesn’t look at me. “Once. Didn’t last long.”

Yeah, I know. I was there.

“Was she a whore?” I ask him. “Is that why you aren’t married to her anymore?”

He laughs and makes eye contact with me again. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

I blow out a slow breath, then flip over my second card. An ace of clubs.

Blackjack.

“I’m getting married,” I say. “But she’s not a whore.”

I don’t think I’m making any sense to him, because he tilts his head and his eyes narrow a little. Then he leans forward and taps the edge of the table. “Let me give you a piece of advice, son.”

“Don’t call me son.”

He pauses for a second and I recognize a flash of the condescending look he used to give. Then he says, “They’re all whores. You’re young, don’t settle down. Enjoy your life.”

“I do fucking enjoy my life. I enjoy it a whole fucking bunch.”

He shakes his head and then mutters, “You’re the angriest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met.”

He’s right. I am.

I’ve never been angrier than in this moment.

I want to climb across this table and shove my cards down his throat, despite the fact that it’s a winning hand.

The dealer pushes my winnings in front of me, but I stand up and walk away before I do something stupid inside a building full of security cameras and security guards.

“Sir!” The dealer calls after me. “You can’t walk away from your chips!”

“Keep the fucking chips!”

I walk as fast as I can from one side of the casino to the other. I finally find Jon, flanked by the two lot lizards at a fucking pussy-ass Wheel-Of-Fortune game.

“Go find Dalton and Kevin. We’re leaving.”

I walk toward the exit and as soon as I shove open the doors, I bend forward, gasping for breath.

I’m not like him.

I’m nothing like him.

He’s pathetic. He’s weak. He’s fucking bald, for Christ’s sake!

My hands are shaking.

“Hey!” I get the attention of a man who just exited. “Can I bum one of those?”

He puts his cigarette in his mouth to reach into his pocket for another one. He hands it to me, then offers me a lighter. I light it and mutter thanks, then inhale a long drag of it. I’m still pacing when the guys finally make it outside.

But not far behind them, I see him. The wrinkled-tit lot lizard flanked to his arm. They’re making their way toward the exit.

“Let’s go,” Jon says, once they’re all outside.

I shake my head and don’t take my eyes off my father. “We’ll leave in a second.”

I continue staring at them as they walk toward the exit. Once they push through the doors and are outside, his eyes land on me. He notices the cigarette in my mouth as he passes me.

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke.”

“I don’t,” I say, blowing smoke toward him. “This is my first.”