Low End High Roller

there’s this sinister part of me

a part which

takes a sick

kind of joy

in watching these people scurry

like mad children

across the floor

they come here

to live a fantasy and

they believe that


they feed the house their every cent

cashing checks and

taking out advances

with the dream

the hope

of hitting the


there’s a system

a cycle

running over


retracing the same steps

night after night

it doesn’t matter though

even the ones

who defy the odds

find a way to lose

betting and betting

til the pot dwindles

leaving them empty

you see the same faces

every evening

reeking of cheap cigars

stale beer

and desperation

scrounging for


quarters nickles

dimes and


to buy a ticket

this is the business of


of distancing the guest from


expensive escapism

stretching them thin

wringing them of every last drop

of blood

this is the business of


where the peasant is


where the eunuch is


whether it be minutes

or hours

most return

teary eyed


wondering how they will

make it to next


at least they got a

nice panini press and

ten percent off at

the buffet

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