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600seconds. Challenge - 'Don't Blink or You'll Miss It.'
‘There’s got to be a trick to it,’ Johnny mumbled, staring intently at the hustler’s white gloved hands. ‘There’s always a trick. You just have to watch for it. You just have to see.’
Normally Johnny Marks paid no attention to street corner gamblers with their cheap folding tables and hooded, shifty eyes. Most days he’d just breeze on by and let their words bounce off him. It wasn’t hard. He didn’t like being accosted and he didn’t like to be hustled.
But there was something about this one that appealed to him, something mysterious and interesting. This one was different. He had a touch of class. Maybe it was the white dress gloves he wore, crisp, virginal, or the black top hat and matching coat and tails. He wore spats. Jesus Christ. No one wore those anymore. It was like seeing an old photograph come to life. With his hair slicked back and shiny with hair oil, he looked more like a magician than a hustler.
For the first time in forever, Johnny found himself slowing down to listen to the spiel of the con men, of the luckless wanderers. He even doubled back for a second look-see and allowed himself to be led a little way up the ally. The table, he found, was gleaming, polished wood, obviously well cared for. Nice.
“You’ve got to keep your eyes on the cards,” The magician murmured as his white hands shuffled the cards around and around on the small portable table. They made tiny, almost hypnotic ‘swish-swish’ sounds. Like the sound of the sea in a shell. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”
“Miss what?” Johnny asked. His voice was slow, almost drowsy but his eyes never left the cards.
“The grand finale,” The magician smiled broadly, showing a crooked, British smile. His hands stilled and one reached into his vest pocket, “One final magic trick.”
Pigeons scattered at the gunshot, taking flight in a furious rushing of wings, fleeing from a sound that had no real meaning to them.
The magician reached down and pocketed Johnny’s wallet, careful not to get any blood on his white gloves. He tipped his top hat, a final courtesy
“So sorry, good man,” He drawled. “You blinked.”
THE END
600seconds. Challenge - 'Don't Blink or You'll Miss It.'‘There’s got to be a trick to it,’ Johnny mumbled, staring intently at the hustler’s white gloved hands. ‘There’s always a trick. You just have to watch for it. You just have to see.’
Normally Johnny Marks paid no attention to street corner gamblers with their cheap folding tables and hooded, shifty eyes. Most days he’d just breeze on by and let their words bounce off him. It wasn’t hard. He didn’t like being accosted and he didn’t like to be hustled.
But there was something about this one that appealed to him, something mysterious and interesting. This one was different. He had a touch of class. Maybe it was the white dress gloves he wore, crisp, virginal, or the black top hat and matching coat and tails. He wore spats. Jesus Christ. No one wore those anymore. It was like seeing an old photograph come to life. With his hair slicked back and shiny with hair oil, he looked more like a magician than a hustler.
For the first time in forever, Johnny found himself slowing down to listen to the spiel of the con men, of the luckless wanderers. He even doubled back for a second look-see and allowed himself to be led a little way up the ally. The table, he found, was gleaming, polished wood, obviously well cared for. Nice.
“You’ve got to keep your eyes on the cards,” The magician murmured as his white hands shuffled the cards around and around on the small portable table. They made tiny, almost hypnotic ‘swish-swish’ sounds. Like the sound of the sea in a shell. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”
“Miss what?” Johnny asked. His voice was slow, almost drowsy but his eyes never left the cards.
“The grand finale,” The magician smiled broadly, showing a crooked, British smile. His hands stilled and one reached into his vest pocket, “One final magic trick.”
Pigeons scattered at the gunshot, taking flight in a furious rushing of wings, fleeing from a sound that had no real meaning to them.
The magician reached down and pocketed Johnny’s wallet, careful not to get any blood on his white gloves. He tipped his top hat, a final courtesy
“So sorry, good man,” He drawled. “You blinked.”
THE END
