Broken Pattern

    It’s amazing that something so delicate could turn into something so fierce. I’m talking, of course, about women. Never has man seen such wrath and anguish than that encompassed in the female body. As men, we’re used to constant beatings back and forth, suppressing the weak and glorifying the strong, however, when women enter the battle field the war changes dramatically. No longer are the feats measured in strength, but rather in secrets held. Women will happily release the deepest, darkest secrets they’ve kept buried, locked away inside their mind. In one swift sentence, they can destroy a year’s worth of work, or a lifetime of sanity.

    Women and casinos are one in the same. You start by bringing your friend along, to watch your back and make sure you don’t spend, or lose, all your chips. The outside is always inviting, bright lights and decor galore, but once you enter, the fragile welcoming becomes a light show, and try as you may, there’s no turning back. Quickly, you scan every playable table, any game where you think you may have the upper hand, ever knowing that the casino will win in the end. You may win a few, but you’ll lose more, but as long as you have your chips you can play again. That is, until you rid your pockets of all your belongings, turn to see your friend has left you long ago, as you’re forced to walk out of the casino, saddened and shamed. As you turn back to say one last goodbye, the bright lights tease you once more as men walk in and out carrying suitcases full of bills. No mercy, no pity.