Karen, Sharon and Sue are making plans to head downtown for another night of revelry. Their commitment to excellence is enviable…and exhausting. After last night’s Running Still show (which, by the way, kicked ass), Cassie and I are played out.
We agree, however, to stop with them at newly opened Rivers Casino before their evening begins in earnest. It's an all-too-close seven miles from our house, and this is my first trip there.
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| Me and the girls. |
Common sense dictates that casinos and the frugality that accompanies unemployment aren't a stellar combination. My hunch is confirmed early on, when a slot machine swallows up the first of my twenties quicker than I could have burned it. Wanting my precious cash to last a bit longer, I venture over to the two-cent slot machines, but I fare only marginally better.
On a certain level, I admire the capitalistic brilliance of this place. Its window dressings—the savory (though cheesy) restaurants, the glittery (though cheesy) bars—almost make you forget that it was built for only one purpose: to take your money with ruthless efficiency.
Cassie and the girls don’t have much luck either, so we nurse our wounds with a round of drinks in one of the glittery (though cheesy) bars. Afterward the girls go to Rush Street, and Cassie and I go home.
While the girls party the night away, I fall asleep to Saturday Night Live. Pathetic, I know—but I don’t mind. I’m in a low-key mode these days. The girls roll into the house at 4:30 a.m., and I stir for just long enough to think, Better them than me. Then I roll over and drift back into a wonderful slumber.
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