Casino

Vile wretched hole on the river. Why won't you...why won't you...why won't you let me look. Anywhere. At. All. These spinning wheels and spinning screens and spinning lights and spinning me. Around and around like the giant paddle propelling me up an escalator and down another. A minotaur could eat me now. I wouldn't be surprised. But no horror that in-your-face is coming in this place. I see all and nothing at once and the power is overwhelming. I see nothing but the acid glare of the one armed bandit and the elites standing in line for one more pull. Or push. This is 2008. You won't break a physical sweat here.

Abandon all dignity. It's not necessary but it helps.

Around this same floor? Or is it a different one. All I here is the cascading walls of sound. I have never known the hell of autism until I came to this place.

I wish I could look at someone but my attention is missing in action. I wish I could talk to someone but the only conversations involve transactions.

Please, god. I didn't know you were there until I saw your hell. Please, god. Let me breath in this bathroom stall. Faking it is the most real thing here. Let me look at this graffiti until I can be me. Just let me have quiet and focus. Even the most conservative version will do.

But this bathroom. How? How is it just as obnoxious as everything else? The honeycomb floor of this hive jars me as much as anything.

They're bumbling around and I'm bumbling around. Do they know where there going? Is there any amount of order here? Am I following or leading? Leaving or staying?

I found some haven at a slot machine. It's spinning less than everything else. And my eyes become pools on a parking lot. Drying.