Standing there, watching the people appear, disappear like shadows, like the creeping tide which gets on his nerves, he took out a cigarette, wanted to light it and decided against it. Threw it away. More people entered and left through the revolving doors, some in suits, caucasian ladies in evening wear on that red lush carpet under the chadelier. Old men with dark wizened faces, women who smelled of bad luck, like their thin fortune flushed down, spinned away at wheel, thrown into card games. Everything seemed to be in fast motion, winning,losing, coming, going, laughing, sighing--people call it the sin city. A city of Casino, but really it is a city of human drama, of human life, the frailty of wealth, the illusion of the value of money and the joke called luck. HOw if you stared hard enough you could see beneath the thin veil of deception, beneath the glitz, the lush riches, there are flesh, blood, skin of organisms throbbing. A city of flesh, blood, bodily fluids and excretion. The sweat on the palm of the gambler as he throws in his final bet because his night closes, the saliva of the winner on a ucky streak stained the wine glass, the pee which escapes the card dealer as the manager stands behind him, suspecting him of cheating with one of the guests at the table. The stink carried on the losers leaving he casino like a plague he could smell, like the lingering smell of cigarettes, gone stale. He waits.
A group of women, black faces, that smell, he knows--gambling addicts out of luck tonight. "Take us to the harbor" a hoarse voice with the smell of the breath of the diseased. He rakes up the gear and drives off, another night in the city of life.