G stretched his long arms and looked around the table at his friends. Their Friday night poker game was in full swing.  

Glenn, an accountant, was the quiet one of the group, but when he spoke it was usually worth hearing. He had just turned forty, but wore an old man looking gray fedora. 

Jerry, the group’s unofficial leader, was a tall lanky fellow that lived his life like he was a character in the movie Ferris Buellar’s Day Off. He had moppish black hair covered by a black Stetson with a red feather shooting out of the brim. He also wore mirrored sunglasses even though they were sitting inside a dimly lit basement. 

The guy directly across from G was Bob, a city bus driver. One quick look at him and you immediately knew he never passed up a McDonalds and was probably on a first-name basis with every drive-thru employee in the greater Pittsburgh area.

He had to be pushing three hundred and fifty pounds and it was actually quite difficult to tell where his neck ended and his chin began. Bob was bald and had blue eyes and bore more of a tendency to complain than the rest of the group.  

Bob raised his 46-ounce Big Gulp to his bulbous lips and took a long slurp. While watching him, G realized he had never actually seen the forty-five-year-old man without a trusty 46-ounce Big Gulp at his side.   

“Stop staring, G. It’s your bet,” Bob managed to blurt out around the over-sized straw in his mouth.  

“Yeah, G, you in or what?” Jerry waved his cards in the air. “Make your play. I’m holding a real winner here.“

G glanced down at his hand. He held two kings, one a club and the other a spade. His other three cards, a deuce, six, and Jack were also spades. He shrugged and pushed $50 worth of chips into the pot, keeping his face as unreadable as a dead man’s.

“That’s what I’m talking about, baby!” Jerry grinned and pushed in $50 plus another $50. He was a used car salesman over at one of the many 'Buy Here Pay Here' lots off Main Street and was always trying to sell boatloads of BS. He blew a kiss and whispered to the stack in the middle of the table, “You’ll be coming home to papa real soon.”  

The other players looked at Bob who sat down a freshly bitten 18-inch submarine sandwich sporting at least four types of meat gushing out of the sides, with no sight of a vegetable for miles.  

The hefty man busied himself pulling out a pile of gummy worms from his sweatshirt pocket. He studied the squished rainbow pile of candied worms, and after brushing off some lint and fuzz balls, shoved the entire octopus looking conglomeration into his mouth, his jowls bouncing as he chewed. 

“You should really think about a more healthy lifestyle, Bob.” Glenn took a break from his self-imposed vow of silence. “Maybe try mixing in some nutrients into your diet.”  

G looked at Glenn. Profound. 

“Can’t. I’m allergic to them. . . what? It’s a real thing.” Bob leaned to his side and ripped an obnoxiously loud fart.  

“Come on, Bobby.” Jerry scrunched his face up in disdain. “That thing would have killed a small child.”

“I told you guys I wasn’t feeling well.” The fat man pushed in his cards, folding his hand, then began rubbing his stomach with one meaty paw while going for his sandwich with the other. “Too rich for my blood.”

Glenn slid in a $100 worth of chips while nervously pushing his silver-rimmed glasses back up his nose. All three of the other men knew it was a 'tell'. The man obviously wasn’t holding much and was fishing for cards.

G frowned as his three friends' gazes fell on him. It was decision time. Not that he was going out. No, he needed to decide how to play his hand. He pushed in the extra $50, just calling.  

G believed in going big, or going home. This usually meant he went home broke on most nights. Another long flappy fart from Bob, followed by a groan, interrupted his thoughts. G tossed away the king of clubs, playing the long odds of drawing his fifth spade.  

Jerry slid G his fresh card face down. “One card, G? Playing the long shot again? Your going to eat it this time, my tall friend. Eat it.”

Jerry took two fresh cards while Glenn took three. Yeah, the man is fishing. Oh crap, it’s time. G started to rise. He had an appointment.  

“Whoa there, buddy. Where’d ya think you're going?” Jerry put his hand on the standing G’s arm.  “You know the rules.”

“Come on guys. You know my job is important. I have to get to the Cancer Institute over in Philly. When I get the call I have to go.  It’s too important not to.” His voice was deep and hollow.  

“We understand, G, don’t we boys.” Jerry’s words causing the others to nod. “We like you, G, but knew that we had to lay down some ground rules before we allowed you to join our little Friday night game, which you happily agreed to. “

G hesitated. I really need to go.  

“Glenn, please remind G what rule number one is.” Jerry was grinning from ear to ear.  

“Rule number one.” Glenn cleared his throat. “Nobody leaves in the middle of a hand, no matter how important it is.”  

“Nobody leaves in the middle of a hand. We put that rule in especially for you, G, knowing that you’re an on-call workaholic. I mean, come on man, seven days a week; rain, shine, or snow.” Jerry winked at him.  “Besides, this is the largest pot of the night, I’m sitting on the winning hand, and Bobby over there is whining about going home like a third class passenger trying to get on a lifeboat from the Titanic. So sit down.”

“I told you guys I was feeling bad. I really should go home.” Bobby didn’t look well. 

“Jerry’s right.” Glenn cocked his Fedora before imitating Kiefer Sutherland's voice from Young Guns. “Let's finish the game.”

“Well, at least the hand.” Jerry pointed his finger at G’s chair for him to sit. 

A knowing look came across the standing G’s weathered, hollowed, and bony visage as he looked over at Bobby who had a sheen of sweat on his face. The man was breathing heavily even as he shoved a fist full of cheese puffs into his flabby mouth.  

“I guess I can finish the hand, Gentlemen. Seems my first call tonight is right here anyways.”  He picked up his fresh card and pushed another $100 into the pot.

“Good man, G.” Jerry patted his arm, then pushed his entire stack into the center. “I’m all in.” 

Glenn groaned and tossed his cards aside. G sat his scythe back against the wall behind his chair, and after smoothing out his black cloak, took a seat.  

G never took his eyes off the wheezing Bobby who now had his eyes closed. He didn’t even look away when he shoved in all of his chips or to look at the ace of spades he had picked up.  

“Read em and weep, Grim!” Jerry chuckled as he laid down a hand showing the other three aces.

“I won’t be the one weeping tonight.” The Grim Reaper displayed his spade flush, while still staring at the now unmoving Bobby, whose heart had come to a stop.

Time’s up. Death is here.