Midnight struck, and my father was still at the table, surrounded by a captivated crowd. They were all waiting with bated breath to see who would finally break his winning streak. The tension in the air was palpable as each new challenger took a seat, hoping to outwit the man who had been on a roll all night.
"I resign; I've just run out of money," muttered the man currently sitting across from my father. His voice was low, laced with frustration. He pushed away from the table and walked off, shoulders slumped in defeat.
My father remained unfazed. He simply nodded, acknowledging the man's departure. It wasn't long before murmurs spread through the crowd; no one else seemed eager to challenge him. The air of finality hung over the table, suggesting that this might be the end of the night's excitement.
