I bet you wondered how I knew.

Instead I heard it on the grapevine.

The casino is full of real good cunts in the wee hours.
When the sun isn't shining, and the oxygen is pumping,
gambling seems like a good idea.

Old ladies sometimes forget to get all their coin from the bandits.
Go have a look around, get yourself a handful of gold and go play the roulette machines. They had them at the Taberet on Vic street.
Anyway, I digress.
Put it on red, dollar bets.
When you win,
which you will inevitably due to chance and law and order and God and karma,
Gamble.
Gamble hard.

Cash out thirty, forty dollars and head straight for the blackjack tables.
Nip out for a cigarette and try not to beat up drunk indians.
Gamble.
Saunter up to the bar and make friends with other people with nothing better to do than be at the casino.
Georgie Boy was there this time, bought me a pint.
As we sidled out for another cig, two creatures confronted me.
Rosco and Brian.
We are all smart arses, stick it up your arse, money isn't worth anything unless you don't have any, Red Label and cola, racehorses, trackstars, geldings, hot tips and new mates.
Rosco had on a giant emerald ring on his middle finger, my mothers birthstone, and as i quizzed him on life and the pointless naivety of the trivial pursuit we call life, it kept glinting in the morning sun at me.

And when I was left, alone, amongst a now full casino of pensioners, punters and preteens hoping to get past security, i wondered.
I wondered how the fuck these humans lived.
I wondered if the cute girl at the ten dollar Blackjack table would give me some of those Perfect Pair winnings.
I wondered if Security had gotten sick of seeing the same guy waltzing by himself up and down the aisles upon aisles of Timezone machines.
Then I realised that tommmorow Chubby Checker got done for marijuana possession, a long time ago.

By then it was time to go home, so i mounted the shuttle bus to the train station, with my last dollar in my watch pocket, feeling the same feelings, i had the whole day.