“Line up, play the winner,” one girl calls out as her cell mate and three others huddle in a dominoes game, each one packed into khakis two sizes too small, only right for women who need to prove what fifty pound bar bells can do to a woman’s biceps during a twenty-plus year prison sentence.
“Big six,” the girl shouts as she smacks down the ivory on the stainless steel table, wins the game, as she always does, and wins all eyes on her braless pec-ed up double D breasts that bounce behind her shirt pocket, a Lucky Strike peeking out.
“Keep your snake eyes girl!” one of the three who looks on coaches the girl about the one-one tile in the next game, “Keep it for the double.”
“Double or nothing,” the girl thinks as she walks into the yard after the domino game ends. “Just what we were gambling on in that last bank job. Double or nothing, but the Feds didn’t figure it that way.”
Either did the bullet that grazed her right eye, leaving it blind and the left one blurry so that only her fingertips can count the domino dot impressions.