The gambler dressed in black this morning, like he already knew how the night would end. A stiff shirt, a necker tied tight, and a hat low over his eyes. Now he’s at the table, cards in hand, the pot full of trouble. Death’s wearing a smile in the seat across from him. Matching the bet and the grin, he was all in. If the gambler had to go, he’d do it the way he lived—bluffing, down $50, and dressed to lose.