Strokes of Luck

It is time to leave poker behind and get a life. With 10 credits in hand and a renewed teaching certificate, its north to Alaska. Three days later I rill into Anchorage, sleep challenged but with two live head lights peeking through a mobile mudpack. After a shower, a long winter’s nap and absolutely the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten, I pack off to the district office of education.

“What do you teach?” the bland clerk asks.

“Language Arts. K-12. Minor in math,” I recite.

“Follow me,” she directs and disappears left, out of the door behind the desks, down the hallway and disappears. Were it no...