...The man told me I'd "get tired" of it. Hell, I had no idea what that even meant, it sounded like a joke. I thought it was hilarious and even repeated the phrase myself a number of times, in jest; however, I regret that I did not take note of the fire in his eyes or the plain look on his face when he said it: "you'll get tired of winning." And then he said we would win some more.

This was in the old days, salad days, before the long nights. Before the tapping started. I'd be trying to fall asleep next to my wife, and I would hear that tapping - I knew that if I pulled the curtains, it'd be another win. Everything in my bones told me not to pull that curtain - I had won enough, I was ready to cash in - and only God knows why I reached for that curtain. I pulled it, and there he was, on the other side of the glass.

"You tired yet?" he asked. He was holding something; I looked down to try and see it, and he must have noticed that I had done this, because he looked down, himself, and then lifted the thing up. It was Jack Dorsey's head. Beard and all. Swinging like a cheap Halloween decoration.

I broke a sweat and The Winner pointed a gloved finger at me - he didn't even need to say it. I was tired and he knew it.

"Tomorrow night, eleven-eleven, I'm coming back with another win", he said, trudging off into the snowy darkness. I could swear I heard him say something about John Brennan's testicles as he disappeared into the trees.

I shivered. Here I had thought the winning was nearly over. It had only just begun.