There’s forty people maybe, real toads on a log, fight junkies and degenerate gamblers. It’s still early, the undercard, and the chairs haven’t filled up yet, but it’s not empty. Tyson said when he fought, he imagined his fist going through his opponent’s head and out the other side. I walk out into the ballroom with all the cigarette smoke. They play my walkout music, “Bad Moon Rising.” That’s me, on the rise. She’s never seen me show what I’m capable of. She doesn’t believe in me, and I can’t say I blame her. The manager Pam comes back and says it’s time. He likes to hot dog out there, dance around, try to mess with your head, but that shit doesn’t work on me. Young kid, can’t be more than 22, thinks he’s pretty. They call him that cause he’s slick as hell.

Junior tells me to dial it down, save some for “Grease” Miller.

They say the last thing to go is your power, and I think that’s true. We’re warming up in the back, and Junior’s holding mitts for me. An Occurrence at L’Auberge Casino Resort - Lake Charles

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