Some time ago I woke up on a Saturday morning feeling a bit loopy, my brain clouded by an immense preoccupation with, um,  dice.  I don’t know what it was that had invaded my dreams the night before, but whatever it had been, it had left an imprint in my mind that I couldn’t shake.  Considering that I’ve never had much interest in gambling just made the whole thing even more random and odd.  Nevertheless, there it was, or rather, there they were, two dice, in the forefront of my thoughts.  I understood that, for whatever reason, the day would consist of a pair of dice stuffed into my jean pockets, bouncing across a bartop, or resting in my open palm, their black snake eyes staring up at me, guiding me.  But why?   As the day wore on, it slowly began to dawn on me just what role these dice were going to play.  Soon I understood.  Oh yes, yes I did.

I grabbed my phone and called my buddy, Thane.

“Hello, Bones.”

“Hello, Thane.  So, Thane, I’ve been struck by a strong desire to head over to Marta (our local public transportation rail) and roll two dice.  One die will dictate how many stops we go on the train.  The other die will dictate how many drinks we have when we get there.  And, get this…  we get to pick which die is which!   So, whaddya say, Thane.  Interested?”

“Yeah, sure.  Why not?”

“Uh… yeah, really?  Well damnit, let’s roll, brother!”

And so it was on.  For the rest of the day, throughout the night, and into the early hours of the following morning, Thane and I rode the rails around Atlanta, rolling the bones, drinking in unexpected establishments, and polishing the guidelines of a game we would affectionately refer to as Dice and Derelicts (D&D).  Or, the more generalized term, Train Dice.

We rolled and found ourselves in Underground Atlanta, at an Irish Pub that was blasting rap music, at a table where a server never bothered to show up and ask what we wanted to drink.  We found ourselves at Sidebar in downtown Atlanta, perched at the bar next to some Georgia State student who must have spent the early afternoon munching on chemicals, for the kooky bastard talked non-stop at us, rambling and rambling and rambling and rambling, until Thane couldn’t take it anymore and shouted through a mouthful of food, “Holy shit, man!”  We rolled and found ourselves in Buckhead, catching up with the gang at Kramer’s Bar.  By now, the game had evolved to where we were rolling the dice to determine what kind of drink we would order.   Roll a one, drink a domestic beer.  Roll a two, drink a good beer.  Three, you’re drinking cider.  Four, have yourself a fine glass of wine, buddy.  Five, a single  (shot or drink).  And six, a double.   We were rolling to see where we were going.  We were rolling to see how many we were drinking.  And we were rolling to see what we were drinking.  Fate was calling the shots tonight, friends, and fate was treating us well.   We rolled and found ourselves at The Spotted Dog around Midtown.  We grabbed a seat at the bar, the bartender asked what we were drinking, we pulled out the dice and rolled a six.  We cheered!   Yeah, a double!  The bartender laughed.  Two double scotches, kind sir!  We looked around at all the pretty girls that had just arrived from a wedding reception, and had a brief moment of indecision – when we’ve finished our allotted number of drinks, do we have to leave?  Do we have to?  What if we just had one more… No!  We must obey the dice.

And we did.

We obeyed the dice.  And we were rewarded with fond memories of an awesome day of laughs, drinks, and visits to random spots around Atlanta.

Since then I’ve introduced Train Dice to the other members of the gang.  We’ve rolled ourselves from Brookhaven to Midtown, where we were allotted 5 drinks, and while all of us wanted nothing more than a cold beer, we kept rolling sixes – doubles.  Three or so doubles down, and the waitress returned.  We rolled the die…  Some of the gang was outside on the front porch, and they turned to see her walk out with a tray full of red wine.  She looked at the gang and their disappointed faces,  shrugged, and with a tone of genuine sympathy, explained, “he rolled a four.”  By the end of the evening, our new server friend was so stoked on the game that she bought us a round of shots.  I went rolling one Saturday with my buddy Doug.  We rolled our way to East Point station, sweated our asses off on a 30 minute hike to Universal Joint, plopped down at the bar, and proceeded to roll a 4.  Wine.  We stopped over at the bar next door to finish off our requisite number of drinks.  The bartender, upon learning of our game, exclaimed, “I kind of want to be your friend!”  We rolled our way to Hard Rock Cafe in downtown Atlanta.  When getting off at the stop, two beautiful girls with foreign accents watched us exit the train, and followed suit.  We felt a strange certainty that they got off at this stop because we did.  Ahh, but we never found out, because I got nervous.  We rolled a bunch of sixes at Hard Rock, drank double Gin and Tonics, and ended up playing “Who’s Uglier” with the manager as she stood behind the bar, laughing at the two goofballs who were letting a pair of dice pick their drinks for them.   Another time I decided to play Train Dice alone.  Found myself walking towards a bar on the far end of a seedy street as the sun began to go down.  It got dark, I got scared, and I turned around and called it quits.  Train Dice Fail.

I intend on playing Train Dice on every opportunity that I can, and I welcome you to join.  Don’t live in town, you say?  Well, fret not, friend.  Just grab a pair of your own dice, call your pretty lady or your good buddy, hop on your local public rail, and roll!

And let the dice take you where they will.

You can find more about Train Dice here.    Godspeed, rollers.