R.C. FOWLERS

I pulled up to Fowlers for a TFPL freeroll, where I've never had much luck. The payout is winner-take-all $1 per player, which usually amounts to about $50 on a good night, and I've managed to take it down only once or twice in the three or four years I've been going there.
At about 10:00 the karaoke starts and players can sign up and sing for a few thousasnd bonus chips, with me always going for non-standard songs from standard artists, and a poker director who always starts the game off with bar-supporting encouragement like "be sure to take care of your waitress -- she has six children at home alone tonight," or "help out our waiter -- he needs to make bail for his girlfriend."
I go to Fowlers on Mondays because it's right down the road from the four corners Starbucks -- the only place in Austin where you can find tight ska, smart women, hot sweet raspberry tea, and convenient parking -- its almost like civilization. I got there a little before the 6:15 tournament tonight, sat outside with my fourth or fifth tea of the day and caught up on a little ESPN mobile.
Walking in from the back deck, just as most people have been seated, a bunch of more or less familiar faces, some poker players, some folks impersonating poker players, the waiter who always remembers everyone's name leans over and and asks if I want a refill, and since I can never have enough good strong tea . . .
The host interrupts, "Be sure to tip Chad well -- his third male enhancement surgery is tomorrow, and this one is not -- I repeat NOT -- covered by insurance."
Livin' the dream.