There it is, calling me from the gridlock of the rush hour traffic; it’s luring me like a Siren’s song to enter its portals.
At the door Jay voices a friendly greeting - as always. I must remember to get him something for Christmas; he’s a good kid.
The gleaming marble floors and the majestic chandeliers of the casino lobby, set the opulent background for the massive marble statues. These add that extra fantasy factor. A man can dream can’t he? Just enter this hedonistic playground for grown boys, and simply indulge in the multiple delights awaiting within – and forget all your woes.
There really is a magnetic attraction to this place Larry thought to himself.
Look around, the same people hang out here almost every week. Sometimes they come to play daily; professional players. Then there’s those sorry son’s of bitches. Those whom are so addicted, that they bet their entire minimum wage checks, every single Friday - hoping to double their earnings. If not, well, that’s the gamble – sorry bastards.
Wonder what they do when they blow their checks? Perhaps go to those advance check loan places? At least we are guaranteed a sumptuous free meal, and plenty of free cocktails; this veils the tangible scent of despair lurking in the shadows.
Yeah, it’s nice to be catered to. Even if some of these waitresses - Holy Cow! - most have nice legs, but the faces under the harsh fluorescent lighting betray one too many late night. Still, I’d do a couple of them. Heck, the more I drink, the prettier they become.
Larry adjusted his belt, this one digging into his beer belly. Patting his expansive midsection, he thinks: too much indulgence can catch up.
.
He tries not to show how disheartening this game has been this evening. Lady Luck seems to be elusive tonight. Almost as elusive as those uptight bitches he’s had the privilege to date lately, at least that’s what they think. So uptight, they won’t put out any more than a handshake. Not even after being treated to a fancy dinner at The Olive Garden, and with red wine to boot! I don’t think even a firecracker will light up their fire. Not true! Money would. I know that at least they would fake it for me - if I had the big bucks.
“For all that’s holy Lady Luck, if I can’t be lucky in love, can you PLEASE? Give me a winning hand at blackjack? PLEASE? Come on baby, smile on me!”
All I need is one win to recuperate he thought. If I go beyond this hand, that’s it. I won’t even make the car payment on time.
I’ve got no one to hold to at night, during these cold winter nights. I despise my soul-sucking job, I eat crap at Mc Donalds everyday (reminds me, remember to get your cholesterol checked…been feeling dizzy). All I need is one winning hand; then everything will be alright. Everything will fall into place. I will stop being a loser, and I will get gratuitous sweet pussy. Money talks baby!
Larry carefully holds the cards to his chest. A seven and a five. “Hit me” he said, while mentally ordering the dealer to give him a winning number. Let me win this one, and I’ll give you the biggest tip of your life he pleaded with his eyes. It was a ten.
Larry could not hide the feeling of dejectedness as he slumped on the chair. He raked his fingers through his hair, as he concluded he was fucked. He almost felt like crying; he would too if had been a sissy. He felt like it though.
He slowly rose from his chair and put on his coat. Larry walked in simulated shuffling mode to the lobby once again, while he patted his pockets for his car keys.
He found a dollar bill. He mused to himself: coffee, or one last game? What the heck. He played his last dollar at the million dollar machine at the entrance of the casino.
“What the….does the siren going off and the flashing lights mean that......?”
He tries not to show how disheartening this game has been this evening. Lady Luck seems to be elusive tonight. Almost as elusive as those uptight bitches he’s had the privilege to date lately, at least that’s what they think. So uptight, they won’t put out any more than a handshake. Not even after being treated to a fancy dinner at The Olive Garden, and with red wine to boot! I don’t think even a firecracker will light up their fire. Not true! Money would. I know that at least they would fake it for me - if I had the big bucks.
“For all that’s holy Lady Luck, if I can’t be lucky in love, can you PLEASE? Give me a winning hand at blackjack? PLEASE? Come on baby, smile on me!”
All I need is one win to recuperate he thought. If I go beyond this hand, that’s it. I won’t even make the car payment on time.
I’ve got no one to hold to at night, during these cold winter nights. I despise my soul-sucking job, I eat crap at Mc Donalds everyday (reminds me, remember to get your cholesterol checked…been feeling dizzy). All I need is one winning hand; then everything will be alright. Everything will fall into place. I will stop being a loser, and I will get gratuitous sweet pussy. Money talks baby!
Larry carefully holds the cards to his chest. A seven and a five. “Hit me” he said, while mentally ordering the dealer to give him a winning number. Let me win this one, and I’ll give you the biggest tip of your life he pleaded with his eyes. It was a ten.
Larry could not hide the feeling of dejectedness as he slumped on the chair. He raked his fingers through his hair, as he concluded he was fucked. He almost felt like crying; he would too if had been a sissy. He felt like it though.
He slowly rose from his chair and put on his coat. Larry walked in simulated shuffling mode to the lobby once again, while he patted his pockets for his car keys.
He found a dollar bill. He mused to himself: coffee, or one last game? What the heck. He played his last dollar at the million dollar machine at the entrance of the casino.
“What the….does the siren going off and the flashing lights mean that......?”
.
