He booked a one-way flight to the Neon City. He told his old lady he might not be back. There were no guarantees, he said. He had a reservation at the Gold Bullion hotel, and it was as plush as they came, downtown. After he checked in, he found the craps pit, and got over on a $5 pass line bet. Twice more he laid odds with the shooter, and twice more the shooter made point. It’d been fifteen minutes since he walked through the double doors, and he was already ahead. He thought about calling her; he looked at his cell phone, only one bar, so he collapsed it, and shoved it back into his pocket.

He spied a girl at the bar, and she warmed his mug with a smile. He was dressed to kill, and so it figured. He made his way to the bar, and struck up a conversation. She was in room 328, and asked him if he’d join her for a drink at ten.

“I just need a ten spot, you know—in case you meet another girl. The hotel charges a fee for lost keys.”

He dropped two $5 red birds on the bar, and slipped her key inside his wallet.

“See you at ten”, he said, and headed back to the craps table for more.

A raucous crowd had gathered around the layout, and he figured the shooter must’ve been on fire. After the shooter came out strong, he kept rolling high without a breath or a care, as though the bones might’ve burned a hole in his hand. Bets on the pass line started to stack up, and the man was quick to get in on the action. The action steeped, and everyone on the pass line got off, as cocktail waitresses in tight skirts and heels worked a strut, even as they weaved their way between rows of reels and slots divided into blocks, spread across the gaming floor like a grid. They circled the pit before they lined up cheek-to-cheek, on the service side of the tri-corner bar.

The shooter crapped out, and the man watched the money change hands. The cocktail waitress was late with his drink, but it was just as well. He’d wagered and lost 500, and knew he was busted out, and apparently so did she.

He headed for room 328, looking for the jackpot, but when he tried the key card, it didn’t work. He knocked several times, but no one answered. He waited thirty minutes in the hallway, and then wandered back into the casino. As he walked the casino floor, he could see who’d paid for all the lighting fixtures, marble floors, shag carpets, and neon signs. He watched them all, and their eyes were blank and passionless, as they sat in front of video screens, spinning their reels, and punching buttons to better their hands. They were all suckered by a whore named Chance. Pay to play, with no promise of return. They all knew Chance was tight, and figured she was the best lay in town. But if Chance was a royal flush, or sevens on a reel; she wasn’t putting out for too many, but would always take your money.

He looked around for the barfly, then glanced at his watch—it was quarter to eleven. Maybe she was back in her room, he thought, and headed for the third floor. But he’d gotten onto the wrong lift, and instead wound up on the top of the parking garage. He walked to the edge, and could see the entire Neon City stretched out in front of him.

He took out his cell, this time he had four bars. He decided as he one-touch dialed, he’d tell his old lady he was back on top. He’d won at craps, and met someone else, and he’d decided to let her go. But she never picked up, so he told her voice mail. She was the only one he’d ever had real romantic feelings for. Every other girl had been that sweet, unrequited love.

He collapsed his cell phone, and checked his watch—it was 11 o’clock, and by now the barfly would be back in her room. This time he’d bypass the lift. He looked down, and saw at least two black metal fire escapes the long way down. The night was still young, and felt like a dream, as he flew over the black metal staircase, until he heard a loud slap, and everything faded to white.