The Canasta Club was a thriving retired persons’ venture in the town. Every Thursday evening about sixty people would gather to play canasta and socialize.
As with every such group there is always a head gossiper. Cushla was such. Not a snippet of intrigue escaped her attention. This week it was about Damarius. Damarius was over in the corner with his group playing canasta, and Cushla was on the other side of the room with her group.
“Did you know,” said Cushla, “that Damarius’ old truck was parked outside the only pub in town for several hours? I believe that can be interpreted only one way; he has a problem with drink. He clearly needs to seek help. There’s a club somewhere in town for alcoholics that meets regularly. With his truck parked outside the pub for so long it definitely points to his alcoholic tendencies.”
This juicy piece of gossip was quietly spread from card table to card table. “Damarius is an alcoholic. His truck was parked outside the pub for hours, and everyone in town knows that truck.”
Word reached Damarius’ table. He didn’t say a word but went on quietly playing canasta.
Later, he parked his truck on Cushla’s driveway, took the keys, and left the truck there all night.