You return to the pool bar a few weeks later. Kurf McGragle is not there but Arcata Bill is. You just walk right up to him challenging him to a game. He looks at you like he would look at the bottom of this 300 dollar shoes after stepping in shit. He says he don't play for free. He ain't no Amatuer chump, he is a world class professional. The king of the game. He is playing at a table to himself, just practicing. Sinking some great shots while sipping beer like the can will last him hours.
You insist and you start getting loud. The bouncers, wide knots of muscle and scowl walk up to ask Bill if this "faggot" is bothering him. That's when you try to grab Arcata Bill and instead only manage to spill his beer. The thing was mostly full almost two hours after he bought it! The bouncers seize you roughly and your struggles are in vain. They "walk" you out the back door and Arcata Bill follows with a very angry look on his face. The bar's bouncers hold you up by your painfully extended and outstretched arms while Bill works you over with his 1500 dollar pool stick. He actually breaks it over your head from striking you so hard over and over again. This enrages him even more and he picks up a jagged splintered section of the stick to jam into your belly deep and twist it as you howl your life out in strangled chokes.
The End