Each evening, every night. Opulent gaming halls with scarlet moiré walls and marble floors and gold-framed mirrors. Gentlemen in dark evening clothes and lushly gowned ladies in diamonds and pearls. The world of Johnny Roulette. A gambler’s glamorous life. Thousands bet on the turn of a card, a toss of the dice, a spin of the wheel. Unreadable faces, cool exteriors, negligent postures. Heartbeats quickening, throats tightening, breaths cut short. Fortune. Chance. Destiny. Fate. Break. Godsend. Windfall. Fluke. Words often on the lips of every gambler, from the nervous young novice shooting craps in an alley to the imperturbable seasoned veteran playing cards in a lavish club. Whether in an darkened alley or chandeliered hall, the thrill of gambling was much the same. A kind of exquisite torture, a feeling of being vitally alive, of standing on the threshold of untold riches. At the same time, the sense of being in peril, of purposely courting danger and destruction. Only a true gambler could appreciate the anguish and the ecstasy.
