Musings On the Life of Playing Card

I am a playing card.

You call me, Ace because I am less than three. But I wonder, and here I question myself even, am I really?

What is less than three? In becoming Ace, it was <3, a simple way of saying a heart.

I could just as easily have made myself the lovers, two less than three, which would mean I am one and two and three. But no, I am Ace. Other than a number, but not quite royalty. I do not seek to put myself above.

And yet... and yet, and yet, and yet, it is a question we always start with: "Ace's high?"

No, thank you, I tend to stay away from marijuana on my own, though I find I'm less averse to recreational substances in social situations, except when athletic or scholastic endeavors expressly forbid it.

You see, numbers are tricky things with their subtle in-betweens. They are gradients full of infinities. Less than three is more than me, so I'll take that nasty little letter (better than an F as they taught us in school) with it's up down illusions of grandeur parked right at the beginning of the end.

But nay, do not set me aside to fade in the glory of the sun. Shuffle me back into the deck with my brethren.

I'm touched. Really, I am. Your dirty fingerprints are all over me. Stains of chocolate and juice and grease embed themselves in my vinyl-plastic coating.

Shuffle, bridge, shuffle, clack. Cut the deck and there I am, hiding right on top. Did you ever see such sleight of hand?