A bank of screens, roundly ignored, showed various angles of bag-laden families grazing on the fertile west field. They shuffled for space, occasionally bumping one another with a grunt and a change of direction the only result.
One end of the counter in the watchtower had been commandeered for today's game. A table cloth purloined from one of their charges below covered the surface and around it sat the four players. Mugs held irish coffee, apart from one, and a saucer a pile of digestives. A heap of cigarettes sat in front of each player.
"Do you ever think about love?"
"More often than the wife would like."
"You know what I mean."
"The kind of love that would drive me to kill for my kids or the kind that I would kill to win?"
"Are they different?"
"I don't know. The kind that makes us special."
"You think you're special?"
"You ever seen a wildcat defend its kittens?"
"You've never seen that."
"No, but I bet they go mental."
"Is that love?"
"You'd have to ask them."
"And what would that prove?"
"Fold."
"Fold."
"Call."
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