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The Circolo della Briscola

In March 1991, an old friend telephoned me because his wife had left him. He said he merely wanted to talk with me, to have someone listen to him, to have a sounding board. Rejecting my "macho" offer to get drunk together, or to "get together with the boys," or even for "just the two of us" to have dinner at a quiet restaurant, my final suggestion—a game of briscola—was slowly, deliberately accepted with a very happy, "Hey, Enrico, that's not a bad idea. I used to play with my Sicilian grandmother, who told me the only way to win was to cheat! Let's do it! But I haven't played for 25 years!"

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