"Aw. I bet I could kick your ass at poker." He gloats, having no real basis for this claim. Ira pretends like they are in fact just going outside. He's gonna die on this bull, but he'd probably go on. Even bad ideas sounded okay tonight. It had been a long, cold two weeks in Portland. "We don't do Christmas like that. But I got a couple books that I've finished, because it was that or die in the snow. It was mostly snow."