Surface Tension

Slot machines are helpless against my charms. I slide my coins and bills in them just the right way. I caress their long levers until they can no longer endure the anticipation. Then, finally, I grip firmly the black sphere and yank it towards the stained gray carpeting below. There is an intaking of breath as the machine spasms wildly for a moment. The dizzying spin, the blurred bars and cherrys and other brightly colored icons hypnotize me. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stops. The machine finds itself defenceless, naked, and ashamed. For it had given me something that it should not have. Its master would be most displeased.

I collect. Giving no second thoughts to the recently ravaged whore, I indifferently turn away. The machine shivers in the awkward, lonely silence of my departure. Watching me as I stroll down the next isle of blinking lights and barstools. Looking for my next one-dollar-stand.