“First of all,” said Bryan, “I can’t fucking believe you’re actually saying you’re doing this for the good of the fish, or the land, or whatever you wanna call your little poker buddies, you greedy piece of shit.”

“Well, look at that,” said Logan. “First time I hear the man’s voice in like a year! Love you too, buddy.”

“Fuck off. Second, the tragedy of the commons, like the prisoner’s dilemma, only works in an environment where the herdsmen don’t all know each other and hold each other accountable. Where if you game the system, there isn’t shame and punishment to be faced, and you can just get away with it. It only works in an environment incapable of self-regulation.”

“Self-regulation?” Logan smiled defiantly.

“Self-regulation,” said Bryan, gripping the pool cue with both hands. The room was silent.

“Look, buddy, your silver-star-sheriff bullshit could maybe fly at your home casino in Butthole, Montana, but self-regulating communities only work when they’re small, you know? This is Vegas, thousands of poker players through this town every year. Are you gonna shame and punish all the ones who don’t live up to your little honor code? Huh? The little knight in shining Armani? The selfless hero of the oppressed who drives a fucking Tesla? Give me a fucking break. It’s over—there’s just too many of us, and many more will come, now that online sucks balls. You said so yourself back when these kids started showing up,” said Logan, turning around forty-five degrees and pointing his chin at Ray, who was very glad to see Bryan’s threatening stare remained fixed forward and downward at his knife-wielding interlocutor.