From an exotic animal farm nestled in the soft-stemmed marshes of central Florida to a collegiate experience so achingly normal as to spur a short stint at the Berklee College of Music in Massachusetts and kick start a musical career that, while still in its nascent stages, is just aching to flower, Laney Jones has always found her own quirky way through life. It’s a quirkiness, an endearing singleness, a heartfelt originality that peaks through every shimmering chord, every trembling melody of her songs and it’s a uniqueness she believes has been a part of her since the day she arrived on that little slice of four-legged heaven amongst the orange groves of Mount Dora.
Author: Calvin Setar
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The Bookmaker
He checks his phone.
Puts it down, shifts his position on the couch, picks it back up again.
The visiting team scores.
Emotion comes – is quickly restrained.
“I don’t usually watch the games,” he says, now standing. “Too superstitious.”
Instead, he’ll usually watch TV with his kids. Go hang out with his girlfriend. Take care of the myriad other trivial daily life tasks we’re all forced to endure.
He’s not some big wig, some shark in Vegas or Reno, planning to break your legs if you don’t come up with cash. He’s not some guy in a suit and tie, showing up on your doorstep to collect or grudgingly make payouts that come in digits greater than three.
No, he’s just another guy, looking to make cash on the side, to help feed his kids and pay his bills.
He’s no shark – at least not in the sense you’re probably thinking. He’s your friendly, neighborhood bookmaker – or “bookie” for short. He’s the guy you hit the bar with, the guy whose kids you pick up from football practice. He’s the guy you went to high school with.
And to you, he’s Vegas.
Only don’t mistake the fact that he’s not a shark for meaning he’s a minnow.
He’ll goad you; maybe he’ll even tempt you. The only thing he won’t do is pressure you and, more often than not, there’s really no need.
He knows what he’s doing – and even more important, he’s good at it.