Black & White

12 Ball in the Corner Pocket

I watched him lean over the table, cue sliding slow through his fingers as he lined up the shot. He set the cue ball off-center, just above the equator, thumb resting steady while he judged how much right spin he'd need to bend it around the cluster of stripes blocking his path. I could see him recalculating, shifting his weight, tilting the cue a hair more to the right. He wasn't just aiming at the 12 — he was aiming at where the cue ball would end up after it kissed the rail and spun back for position. I held my breath as he drew the cue back, that last second of stillness before the strike, everything riding on the spin he'd built into the shot.