For Anatoly

The jukebox had been mercifully silent today as Lex moved about the pool table, taking shot after calculated shot. Small blessings, but Lex had learned to cherish them a lot more since arriving on that island. Among other things. Speaking of which, "12 corner pocket" he muttered in Russian to himself as he bent over and made the shot. The ball bounced off the five, hit the wall and almost glanced off the pocket, but went in. It had taken him a bit to get used to this much more worn table vice his carefully taken care of one in the castle, but he was getting used to it. Plus, the geometry was a refreshing change of thought.