Fatty Bobsticks

Diary

Fatty Bobsticks will tell you, loud and often, that he is nothing like Fat Bob, thank you very much, even as he stumbles into the same bamboo forest where the old man once lost his topknot and his temper in the same breath. There, under moonlight and the judgmental rustle of leaves, Fatty shoved the entire family fortune onto a single reckless bet, laughing the laugh of a man who has never once respected a floor price or a life expectancy. Death leaned in close that night, close enough to smell the sake on his breath, and for one shining second Fatty Bobsticks almost achieved the discipline his ancestors prayed for, if only by accident. He walked away broke, humbled, and suddenly very Buddhist, shaving his head and swearing off dice like a man swearing off his own shadow, which is to say not very convincingly. Somewhere Fat Bob is smirking, because Fatty still meditates with one eye on the betting odds, still calls it enlightenment, and still insists, between chants, that he is absolutely nothing like his old man.”