If he wasn’t dealing cards at Harrah’s, he sat on the couch in the French Quarter townhouse he shared with his three brothers, and loathed his circumstances.
Dealing cards at the casino kept his mind from lamenting on things over which he had no control. Cards distracted him from the examination of mankind. They held no surprises and fell in predictable patterns. The stability comforted him. The notion that something so simple calmed him was ridiculous, but the serenity he found behind the table was the reason he returned to the casino night after night.