Phil Penne Creations

#23 - The Gambler

 

 

        The forest at two A.M. is a different world from its daytime counterpart: Green trees with rough-textured bark become smooth, looming silhouettes against a pale moon. The sounds of nocturnal beasts are amplified, with the snap of a dry twig varying by only small degrees from a crack of thunder. Cool night air carries on its wings a host of scents not discernable during the daytime. Walking with a companion down a forest path at this time of night you speak in whispers, if at all, as if in fear of disturbing the slumber of some long sleeping Druid deity. 

        A casino at two A.M. doesn’t behave much differently from its daylight cousin. Whorish lights still flash rhythmically, indifferent to the degree of darkness or light of the outside world. The laments of losers and howling of winners are diminished only minimally; the same whiskey sours are still being spilled by the same boisterous drunks; the same little old ladies who make their Scottish terrier suffer the indignity of wearing a tam and tartan are still playing the slots; and the same bored croupiers are dropping the clattering balls in the roulette wheel, all the time heedful of those keen of wit and quick of hand. 

        Your attention alternates nervously between the number 11 on the roulette wheel and the waning stack on chips in front of you. The ball ceases its frenetic leaping from number to number, finally coming to rest on… 30. The croupier scrapes up his spoils, ignoring the look of despair on your face... 

 

 

 

Winning is all relative - it just depends on your point of view. Even when the cards some up wrong and the money's gone, the game may not be over.