Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me.
Good Lord, that's a time machine. My ancient skills returned instantly (a bit rusty, though) along with the feel of the linoleum floor at Settles' Pool Hall and Fresh Mississippi Fish Market [sic] in Findlay, Illinois, the smell of cigarettes, the angle at which I leaned to play the game, the clicking of billiard balls behind me, the heft of quarters in my jeans pocket. Just amazing.
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