At the Blue Chip, everybody says they're winning, whether at the poker or blackjack tables, throwing die in craps, jerking the slot machines or palming the video games. Looking like a white whale, the Blue Chip Casino is a huge cruiser wading in the shallow waters of Trail Creek. It's a giant, windowless vessel that travels a mere 1,200 feet up and down the expanded channel. Inside, there are no windows, no decks, no views of the water or the town, no clocks. There are three restaurants, and the waiters offer free coffee and soda to players.
Folks hang around the spacious waiting area before boarding.
They come in groups of retirees, in couples or, in the case of some younger men, alone, pulling wads of bills out of their back pockets. The dealer, who knows to wait until the money's flat on the table, waves him off. The guy picks up his bills, embarrassed, and shuffles off. I don't know what he does for a living, but I don't think he can afford this anymore. Somehow, in spite of the Vegas act, it's still a small town here.