They hover behind the local grade school. Must be about ten of them — loud, fidgety juveniles tossing a crudely numbered lump of limestone up against a brick wall. High stakes gambling for the pre-teen set.
And that afternoon’s prize – one green chip, a worthless fragment of polymer. But to these starving colonists… gold.
A marathon session later, a winner is crowned.
The boy holds the chip in his sweaty, trembling palm. He knows he’ll trade it in for a hot meal at the commissary.
And as for the rest of them?
He can’t worry about the rest of them…
The Weekday One Hundred 