Last hand.
Right.
Last hand.
Right.
The tournament is over.
The winner's been announced.
Hey, everybody stands up.
Stretching tired shoulders.
Someone grabs their backpack.
Someone puts on a jacket.
Someone checks the time.
Wow, it's already midnight.
Then someone smiles, looks around the table,
and quietly says,
So, one more hand?
Everybody laughs.
Because nobody expected to leave anyway.
No points, no prizes, no pressure.
Just cards, friends, and one more story
waiting to happen.
One more hand.
That's what we always say.
One more hand.
Then somehow, another game.
One more hand.
Nobody believes it, but everybody says it
every single Sunday.
One more hand.
One more hand.
One more hand.