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by John Vorhaus |  Published: Nov 16, 2011


Well, here I am back in Managua, Nicaragua, a place of which it’s said that, “You’re never more than a ten-minute walk in the wrong direction from dead.” On past visits here, I frequently braved a ten-minute walk (not the wrong one, one hopes) from my flat to the Aces Poker Club, a little homegrown hole in the wall where I could while away a steamy evening wagering literally hundreds of cordobas (literally ones of dollars) at a time. It was with some anticipation that I looked forward to resuming my acquaintance with the club, for never have I seen a playing population so thoroughly shot through with woodentops – players, that is, “oak from the neck up.” Alas, alackaday, in just the nine months since I was here last, the Aces Poker Club has sunk beneath the waves of global economic meltdown. Maybe the club manager couldn’t make the ...

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