You sat down to play blackjack.
Not unravel your childhood wounds.
But here we are.
You’re on your third beer, second heartbreak, and first confession of the night…
and I’m just trying to finish this damn shoe.
🃏
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m not mad. I’ve got the face for this.
The voice, too.
Soft but firm. Calm but spicy.
The kind of energy that makes people feel safe enough to overshare but still sexy enough to make them nervous about it.
I’m basically a human weighted blanket with cheekbones.
So yeah, people open up to me.
And honestly? I let them.
Because I know how rare it is to be heard in this city without paying by the minute.
But let’s get one thing straight:
If you’re about to dump three decades of unprocessed emotions on me in the middle of a split hand, you better tip like I just saved your soul.
💸
I’ve had full therapy sessions happen at my table.
Childhood trauma. Relationship regrets. Spiritual awakenings.
One guy literally whispered, “I think I’m becoming a better person just sitting here.”
Sir, I’m flattered.
But this is a $25 minimum table and a $0 tip so far, so unless your personal growth comes with gratuity, we’re gonna need to speed-heal.
🎲
And you know what’s wild?
Most of them aren’t even looking for advice.
They’re just looking for someone to nod, blink twice, and not run away when they say,
“I think my wife hates me,”
or
“My last therapist ghosted me,”
or
“I miss my mom and she’s not even dead.”
I absorb it like secondhand smoke.
Smile. Shuffle. Deal.
And suddenly, I’m the only thing between them and a full-blown existential spiral on the casino floor.
🤷🏽♂️
It’s a weird honor, honestly.
To be the emotional support human for people just trying to win back their dignity and maybe a little gas money.
But I’ve learned a few rules along the way:
If you’re gonna cry, that’s okay, just don’t cry on the felt.
- If you’re gonna confess, I accept payment in red, green, or purple.
If you’re gonna flirt, please be cool about it. I’m queer, not clueless.
And if you feel safe with me, thank you. I take that seriously. But also… tip me.
Because this vest is polyester.
This smile is real.
Your baggage is heavier than a vault of cheques,
and I’m paid minimum wage.
💅🏽
So yeah, talk to me.
I’ll listen.
I’ll hold your secrets like chips in a comped bucket.
I’ll keep your story tucked behind the discard tray, safe and sacred.
But don’t mistake my kindness for a free emotional service.
It’s hospitality, baby, not martyrdom.
I’m not just dealing cards.
I’m dealing with you.
And that, my friend, costs extra.
🍒🎰🧃🌈🫦🎲🫦🌈🧃🎰🍒
Felt seen? Now see the tip box.
👇
