Sooner or later, the improbable happened, and a run of
losses wiped out the double-or-nothing players.
Oliver put his $100 chip on pass. He lost. He lost twice more and
returned to roulette. This time he won on the second spin. He went back
to craps and lost again. His winnings sunk to $45 and then climbed back
to $120.
"How's your luck tonight?" A young blonde smiled appealingly.
"Not too bad."
"You want to bet a couple for me? You know, have a good time?"
"I'd love to," Oliver said, "but I'm too shot. I'm going to bed."
"I could help with that," she said.
"No thanks, Beautiful--not tonight." She shrugged and moved on. Oliver
went up to his room and was asleep in five minutes.
At 4 a.m. he was wide awake. He dressed and returned to the casino. The
room was mostly dark and shut down. Only one row of slot machines by
the door was active. Overhead lights illuminated a single craps table,
a bright mahogany raft floating in the darkness. Old men held on to its
edges, playing quietly and grimly. Oliver put himself in their place.
Why go to bed? Save themselves for what? They clung to a different kind
of life raft than Jacky had been for him, but it was just as real.
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