Excuse me

I never learned how to play blackjack or solitare or 21 pick up (22?), and I refused to learn how from Lev Nikolayevich Myshkin; an idiot for short. Out of all the characters to be stuck with, I had to be a table away from an optimist.

Ugh...

I rolled my eyes as he shuffled the cards, smiling slim all the while under the slow swaying blub on a string. It was just a dream, right? Probably one of those Jungian situations where my pessimism drug naive protagonist from the pages of my mind. There was a lesson here, buried within those cards that lacked shapes or numbers, but held pictures of a moon, a sun, the world with little descriptions at towards the bottom. I wasn't happy with any of this.

"Let's have a good game." He cheered with honest eyes...almost made me smile with them too. It was weird how a voice in my head could be so familial.

"Whatever..." I took mine from the top of the pile, placed them one by one in front of me while tilting the edges of the bottoms. Whatever this game was supposed to make me realize hadn't been explained, and maybe there was no lesson at all.

After all, I don't even remember how I got here.

He placed his drawn cards in the same order as I; however, he looked at each with a new focus in his stare. Not of suspicion, but of curiosity.

"I don't understand." He said with a hand under his chin.

"...what?" I swallowed

"Why you can't be honest."