If I were to write a continuation or sequel to 'Twenty-something' it might begin something like this...
The small
white ball with its familiar rolling whistle of plastic on hard polished wood
strikes the metal rivet and clangs, bounces and jostles into green zero. Twice
in a row. Then a third time one spin later.
I joined this game of roulette with
eighty New Zealand dollars. I left the table with three thousand. I always
cover green zero.
It’s easy to get carried away making
money this easy. I tipped the night shift worker of the late night pizza
restaurant one hundred dollars for a fifteen dollar takeout. He was playing
some old school rap music as I waited for my food and I figured he might like a
pair of new trainers.
As a rule I don’t play roulette. I’m a poker
player. But I have a habit of breaking my own rules. I came a lousy third place
out of a field of nine in the only game in town. For third place I got that
eighty dollars. Then one hour later I’m carrying with me a decent months wages
in cash.
Once you’ve had a few successful gambling
experiences, the thought of the 9 to 5 twenty days a month bullshit to make the
same money seems just that, bullshit. But once you rely upon the fate of a turn
of a card or a little white plastic ball, then you’re fucked. I lost most of
the three grand over the next two or three nights. I won’t even bother telling
you about the time I made and lost eighteen thousand US dollars in one night. I
will tell you though, that when you wake up in the morning, you feel sick. Not
the kind of sick where you think you are going to vomit, but the kind of sick
you feel when hit by a metaphorical bus, sledgehammer or any other large
unforgiving object.
As time goes on you get used to the big
losses. You become numb to it, you think in terms of buy-ins and chips and
money ceases to hold the same value...
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