Fidgeting

I have a pile of clay poker chips on my desk, next to the computer. I sift them with one hand, overlap them one on another and then move them back into their neat stack, over and over. They're vaguely nautical -- white with blue stripes on the outside edges. I don't play poker, but I admire people who do, the ones who play it for their lives. I like the clicking sound my chips make when they snap into place.