The wet smoldering log and its dank smoke did nothing but enhance the
gloom permeating tangible blackness from the door open to the drizzle
soaked night.  K sat, bored, his eyes lazily wandering amongst the
dregs, empty and silent, who with him patronized the Bar by the Bitch.

His eyes fell upon one making a game of cards by himself in a
corner. K had not seen him come in. Driven, perhaps by mystery
heightened by the oppression of stasis, against his singular recalcitrant
nature, K walked over to the stranger's table. The man was bearded,
bearing sharp and weathered features, and his eyes, though deep-set,
shone with insidious wisdom.

"This is not a place," said the stranger, locking K with his eyes,
"Where a man can casually glance at another's cards."

"I'm sorry," said K, "I needed to stretch my legs but the thought of
going out into this shit depresses me utterly. I'll leave you be."

"Who are you?" asked the man.

"My name is K"

"I am called Scratch. You may sit, if such is your wish, but know this
is no idle game."

K looked at the cards and saw faces unfamiliar to him. He then noticed
that the number of cards on the table was not fifty-two, but perhaps
five times that number, and a crumpled paper bag on the table held
unguessably more.

"What game is this?" asked K.

"The game is called Knowledge," said Scratch, "Prosperity is gained by
turning over cards, revealing truths sought and unbidden."

"I'd like to play," said K.

"It's a gambling game," said Scratch, "And I'm afraid I cannot teach
you the rules save through the course of play."

"I do not have much coin," said K.

Scratch shook his head.  "Money," he said, the fire sparking in his
eyes, "Is meaningless anyway.  I'll tell you what.  If I win, I will
follow your path.  If you win, you follow mine.  Is it a deal?"

K stood for a moment, a smile curling his lip.  He had no path or
steady job and did not so much mind prancing off after another for a
time.  "Why the hell not?" he said, "It's a deal."

They played.  With each card he turned over, K gained some
insight into some crucial issue.  It was eerie how closely the cards
seemed to follow his course of life, answering questions, though vague
and unstated, that had long held him mystified.  Scratch's hand was
less destined, and in the end, K had turned over all cards but one.

"I took you for a fool," said Scratch, "But it appears in the
end you are the victor."

"But what is that last card?" said K, "Now that the game is over, I
must satisfy my curiousity."

Scratch shook his head.  "That's not how it's played," said he,
"For that last card, you must again wager.  But for such a bit of
knowlege, is it worth it?"

"I must know," said K.

Scratch turned over the last card.  Upon it was the depiction of the
Bar by the Bitch, with K wearing a jester's cap being led by a chain
attached to an iron collar around his neck by the Devil.