Germaine walked out of the restaurant having lost, once again, his body in a slump as he kicked dirt, scuffing his way to the car. He was looking for something better than all of this; an avenue of recreation that brought about true satisfaction. He drove home, and got down to his knees on the driveway after he closed his door. Looking to the heavens above, he sought forgiveness for his transgressions and pleaded for mercy.
That is when the Angel Radcliffe appeared before him, and calmly explained that the Lord's benefits had been capped due to excessive demand, and that there were not enough members of the heavenly staff to facilitate the full-scale operations that some civilians have been demanding. “We'll put you in for the best slot I have available, which means I might be able to get back to you next week.”
Poor Germaine waited four long, depressing weeks before he heard back from the Angel Radcliffe, who said that a cheque in the mail was forthcoming and that “everything is going to be fine, although you should probably be looking for a new source of income, to be honest with you, since we cut off the money after four weeks.” Four measly weeks of spiritual assistance, after a lurid wait of the same length, where Germaine actually had to begin eating his cat litter?
Those four weeks flew by pretty darn quickly – a lot faster than the four prior, needless to say – and then Germaine was again on his knees, and this time the Angel Radcliffe was even less sympathetic to the noble cause. “Look, buddy, we can only help you out for so long. Now, if you behave, and start earning some of your own freakin' cash, and donate at least ten percent of it to the church, you can start living like that again after you die, all right?” Germaine felt a little confused, and decided to sell his car, which he was not able to legally use in the first place.
After pulling a so-called 'runner' on a taxi to the casino, Germaine pulled his usual trick of what essentially amounts to robbing old, drunk men for money to buy his way into high-stakes games. The drinks are plentiful, sometimes supplied by stolen funds, and often conveniently provided by other, friendly gamblers who are hoping to intoxicate the competition. The exhilaration of nearly winning seven grand in some ways beats the sensation of actually winning it, until we start rationally considering the financial ramifications of such a victory. Such cynicism is hardly helpful in a lifestyle such as this; 'easy come, easy go.'
