ghosts of gamblers

"If you ultimately love me, you will stay by me as I remain by this slot machine. All the long while, we'll protest what's wrong with our miserable existence by trying penny by penny to make a new life for ourselves against lottery odds. I can't promise we'll win. I can't promise I won' die trying. I can't promise you won' die trying. The odds are great, but it's win-win. We're gonna sit 24/7 at this glittering piece of metal until shining blood tumbles out of it. Aint a damn thing the casino manager can do about it, cause this is exactly what he wants us to do. He wants our money and we want his. We hit the jackpot and we're swimming in the milk and honey of life. We're left broker than we were into what's out of the government jurisdiction, then I'll meet you on this  street corner after we both die. If I g'it a heartattack, sugar, don't fetch me my pills."

Thus, the rugged Texan who lost his map back home en route to the great Cali shore sat his hide on the two dollar chair, throwing penny after penny into the chamber as if they were gatling gun rounds into a revolver. There sat his wife in the out-of-order slot machine adjacent to him, with a look that would make Dolly Parton hurl in fandom. First drinks for the couple were on the house, which due to sustinance and immobility alone, lasted them a few days. The restroom wasn't too far from their corner in the casino radiance, so if one sensed a glacier devolving, the other would tag in and try their hand at fate. Passing cigarette dispensers and younger folk having distressed collect calls were the highlight of the day.

A week had passed. So did Ms. Dolly. Not that casino operation noticed her death, since they mostly notice a half-pretty gal collapsed face down in flourescent lighting in the casino as drunk. It was when the starlight in Ms. Dolly's eyes faded that the beating in the Texan's heart faded into myth. As you can imagine, the Texan didn't have much to live for, putting his current resolution of wealth-or-die in disarray. Coincidentally, he continued to do the same thing, over and over redefining like the definition of insanity the definition of insanity.  It wasn't until the last breath he had himself that he noticed he was in pain. Funny, how you feel pain so much it becomes as commonplace as the southern wind blowing unneeded, bitter salt back north. Bad enough… just as the recently widowed and long time poor Texan layed on the floor dying, he could have sworn that he heard chimes of the jackpot exploding like a billion stars over the lonely sahara, consuming Earth like he wished it would. A single coin hit his chest as he shrieked up in agony. It was that coin that struck the final blow. He insantly recoiled from its impact and died and its unknown if he was showered by 'em.

An hour apart from another, the Texan and Dolly died trying to gamble for paradise. Every night I see ghosts of the still gambling over street corners in this little cash city. These beautiful places bring out the lie in success, but also bring out the truthful emotions in failure. How sweet it is to stumble as a drunk scholar in this precarious, neon boulevard. I see like each flicker of bulb each flicker of bodily soul that gave up from this world somewhere pretty. Travel to paradise and give up or remain in shadows and flourish. That's a thinker.