Okay, my turn. I'm actually going to make the deadline this time! ********** I missed the shot again. Well, it's not like I have much time to practice. Paul smiled at me, that easy going smile that always gets him the babes, and started walking the table, analyzing the pool table like he owned it. Of course, he treats everything that way. He mumbled some pseudo-sincere "almost had the shot" at me, as if he thought I'd believe him, and lined up his own shot. Now any real player would just pop the nine into the corner pocket, but that was a straight shot, no style, and Paul was nothing if not style. He angled the ball so it banked twice then gently nudged the eleven right into the middle pocket. Even the clink of the ball hitting the bottom of the pocket screamed finese. His date of the night, probably some $1,000 a night job, cooed appreciatively, surprised that he made the shot. Me, I knew he'd make the shot. He always makes the shot. But one day, he is going to miss, and miss big. And I'll be damned if I'm not there to catch it. ***************** Feel free to poke and prod.