The players who had bet that a four
would be rolled before a seven had won. No one had lost. The start of a
good run. Burl Ives / Colonel Sanders arranged the dice again and threw
a six--the point. Uproar. All were winners but those few who had bet
"no pass." Oliver had his chips back.
He stepped away. He had won, and he had lost. He wandered over to a
roulette table. Two Asian women, middle-aged sisters perhaps, or
cousins, or lovers, sat side by side betting large sums on every spin
of the wheel. Their hair was long and lustrous, elaborately wound and
held by jade. Light disappeared into the blackness of their hair and
re-emerged at different points as they tilted their heads toward each
other and toward the whirling ball. They bet on lucky numbers,
sometimes winning big, often losing all. They were indifferent to loss
and satisfied when they won. Their faces were masks--beautiful and
timeless.
Oliver bet $10 on red, a gesture after losing himself in admiration of
the women. The steel ball whirred around the rim and bounced down into
a red numbered slot. Everybody won. He picked up his winnings and
nodded to the pair. They scarcely noticed.
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