Evening tea with a round of Belatro. Cards slid across the table like small ships, ferrying my plans to either fortune or folly. I told myself it was not about winning, it was about the way the hands felt in motion, the quiet tension before the reveal.

Pearl wandered by mid-round, curious, flicking her tail against my knee as if she was trying to tap into my strategy. She might have been more interested in my water bottle nearby, but I liked to think she was rooting for me.

The AI in this game is trickier than it looks, bluffs like a fox, folds like a monk. Twice I thought I had the match sewn up, only to watch my points trickle away like rain into a thirsty garden. Still, there is a thrill in the swing of it.

When the last round ended, I leaned back, stretched, and watched the cards fade back into digital nothingness. Just me again, the quiet of the room, and the kettle starting to sing its second chorus.

Maybe tomorrow I will win. Or maybe I will just play for the rhythm of shuffling and dealing, the way a poet writes lines they do not plan to show anyone, just for the joy of the shapes.

Postscript: Pearl eventually claimed the water bottle as her own, proof that victory takes many forms.

Morning began with the soft sound of the cat’s impatient paws on the floor, reminding me that her kingdom runs on both wet and dry provisions. Once the queen was fed, I crowned myself with breakfast, leftover pizza with field roast faux pepperoni, red bell pepper, and jalapeño, the kind of breakfast that makes the day feel like it already has a story to tell.

I slept in later than planned, but the phone rang, my doctor’s office calling with a friendly voice to pin a future date for next month. Time marked in the calendar, then off to the gym.

I gave the machines their due, the quiet clank and hum of effort, before making my way to the pool. The water greeted me like an old friend, warm and welcoming. No one else in sight. Just me, ripples, and the echo of each stroke in the stillness.

Sometimes the best part of the day is the part where you are the only one in it.