The room stank of stale cigarette smoke and disappointment. Machines designed to shatter dreams, trading money for hope of success or for stories, stood in fat rows. Each promised a big win soon. Somewhere the tinny sound of nickels being paid out clinked sadly, like coins hitting the bottom of a bum’s cup.

I took a deep drink off my rum and coke, and grimaced. Maybe the coke had evaporated. All I was drinking was ice-cube flavored spiced rum. Ugh. I could actually feel the alcohol mix into the waiting bile. My empty stomach quivered but it had been well trained. Or abused. Either way I didn’t throw up, although I might have drooled a little.

“Sir.” The dealer tapped the table in front of her with two fingers to get my attention. I didn’t know how old she was but everything about her had yellowed like a washed out photograph. “Sir, if you’re done, I’m going to close this table. There’s plenty of room left to drink in though.”

“Sure, no problem.” I stood on unsteady legs.

I needed to win again real bad.