![]() ![]() A feeling of tension was gathering around his throat, hot friction taut against his skin, constricting his vocal cords. The face he saw there was familiar, from other dreams and nightmares through which he’d been suffering every night. ![]() "How about you, Sam? Do you know what the dealer’s holding?" When the player chooses to double-down, it always behooves him to look at the dealer’s card first, and then his own. The voice on the TV droned on in the easy, mellifluous manner of a lounge magician’s patter. Turning around, he saw piles of chips and cash heaped on the unmade bed next to an empty champagne bottle that nestled in a chrome bucket full of half-melted ice. Somehow, in the dream he understood that he’d come here to gamble and that he’d won-won big. He dreamt he was standing in front of a picture window in a high-roller’s suite at the Bellagio, with all the gaudy lights of Vegas spilled out below him like a handful of cheap jewelry.īehind him, a smooth voice on the flat-screen plasma TV was giving him instructions for blackjack, an in-room tutorial that played twenty-four-seven on this particular channel. ![]()
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