The Gambler finally craps out, fuck a Subway samich.

I've never lost a bet in my life.

And I come from a family of gamblers. On my Pop's side, that is. Well, I guess on both sides if you count the Bid Whist addicts on my Mom's side. But those are kind Southern folks who would never throw money on the table.

My Pops was calling me on bets from the first time we sat down at a dominoe table. I was 14. That side of my family is all Chicago gamblers, hustlers and street cats. Most of them don't know too much about a diploma or degree, but they keep guns in hollowed out Bibles and played mad dice, dominoes, pool, cards and chess between the 50s and 80s. The Second Golden Gangster Era.

Matter of fact, my Grandmother (R.I.P!) met both of her husbands over a pool table. They were both pool champs. One's name was Willie, the other was Leon. They called Leon "Frog", and of course, Frog was my biological grandfather. Never met him, but from what I've heard, he never had a job in his life and made his whole living from winning local pool tournaments and flipping the prize money in investments. When he passed away about five years ago, he was buried with his lucky pool sticks and dice.

Anyway, even though I never got into that street shit, the gambling streak is genetic. I've never lost a bet, because I always bet the sure shot. Until a couple of weeks ago, when motherfrackin Ian "get Sum drunk and bet him" Dangerous broke my 32 year winning streak.

In case you guys didn't know, we now have a Subway in the neighborhood. Right over there in the Culver Center on Overland and Venice, nestled between a Robeks and a Starbucks. There used to be a Quizno's there, and it's gone now, thank the sweet lord, because anything from Quiznos tastes like fried monkey feet on wheat.

I won't get into the details of the bet, but I will say this. I was drunker than I have been in months, there was some tall, leggy, pretty blonde in the DJ booth and I was hungry and a little bit distracted by Jess Cron's billowing chest plume, which was heaving at the sight of the leggy blonde ( Yo Jess, did you crush? I saw you walkin her home, don't hold out on me man....). I think Ian saw the "I don't give a fuck" in my eyes and totally manipulated the situation. I'm not saying he's not a great boss, he's a great boss. He's just a lousy cheat who only bets drunkards surrounded by women, liquor and other evils. Other than that, Ian's one of my favorite people.

By a show of comments, if yall know the corner I'm talking about, tell me which comes first when you're travelling south down Overland from Venice.....the Robeks, or the Starbucks?