Truth be told, I feel like a bumbling idiot next to a pool table.
There is magic in pool. Genius. Genius I don’t have, but greatly appreciate.
But then there are those strange, oh-so-rare moments in time where I can hit anything I aim the cue at, sending everything effortlessly into a pocket. Nothing fancy, very straightforward.
If I would just quit then, I could stand back, watch and smile, and maybe strangers at the local bar would be just little impressed, mostly because of who I am. I am usually so out of place.
Hippie chick can shoot a little pool?
Sigh. I usually can’t stop myself. And let’s be honest here: I’m not fooling anyone.
Neither did Inspector Clouseau.