Drain

The feeling comes in waves. {i]I should probably leave. But that obsession is so powerful, so seductive that it’s hard to think of anything else when its rigid grip takes hold of your inner resistance. Christ, it’s been five hours already. But it makes sure you know that another five won’t hurt. In fact, the longer you stay the better your odds. I’m not even having fun anymore. You can lie to yourself, but what’s the point? Once you’re part of the cycle you can’t get off. One more go won’t hurt. That’s more like it, go again, and spin that wheel. Oh what a feeling, the rush, the excitement…and finally the drain, the emotionless facial expression that hides an inner frustration. Another go, another and another that all end with similar reactions; a sustained look and little emotional output. I think it’s time for some fresh air. By this you must mean a smoke, fair enough smoke away, just be back in time for the next round.
         Of course you are. You wouldn’t dare be late. This time you’re calmer, more relaxed. It’s almost as if the room got up with you for that smoke, its previous electric atmosphere has since been stifled. There’s no hesitation on whether to go or not this time, because you must win-the feelings, the vibes they’re telling you. Fuck. The vibes were wrong. So you look to the dealer. His face is a rugged maze of cuts and scars, but in his eyes he’s calling you back for more, and you want it. “Hit me.” You say. He smiles, raises an arm and draws a card. As you watch the card a shiver takes hold your spine; ah the easy money lover’s crack. It slices through the air and lands neatly in front of you, on top of your other two cards. The number thirteen is stuck in your mind; thirteen plus eight would be nice. Oh I bet it would, but such is not the case. That son of a bitch Jack is smiling at you from his flattened home, beating down the bastions of a brain so burned. A nerve begins twitching the veins of your forehead, a furious pulse. Fingernails are clenched on the table, scraping the green velvet where they rest. This was a stupid idea…no doubt it was but the damage has been done, another round won’t hurt…but one more round won’t hurt.