Your fate…

You’ll wake up one gray morning in some pellagra-ridden backwater with inexplicable bruises on your left side.  You’ll take your last $17.34 to a shack which purports to be a bar.  On the floor you’ll find a mixture of peanut shells and vomit.  You’ll buy a tallboy, walk to the pool table, and lay two bits on the rail. 

Your opponent will be oddly attractive.  You will throw the game and win love.