Lights bombard the eyes from every side.
Sounds of slots devouring coins, of coins teasing chrome. And supervisors everywhere, armed with walkie-talkies and laser stares, make sure, like platoon leaders, that everyone stays on task, gambling, gambling, gambling. The supervisors are redundant. I'd been through little gambling dives out West, in damp, smoky back rooms that attach to ice cream parlors or coffee shops or bars in poor towns' desperate reach for cash. But those places were like video arcades for adults hedging remnants of Social Security and welfare checks.