Only a select few outside camp Winburn could have told you what the fuck I was doing there – playing video poker, !Deuces Wild! in Cabazon, California at 1:42 in the AM on a Saturday night – but I certainly was. How do I begin to explain…
Cabazon is a wasteland. Actually, we can stop there.
As I realized the time, that I still had 90 miles to go between the place I call home and the place from which I stood, my prized mind began to shed prized composure. The scent of passer-bys was perverse. My hope for the future of mankind was dwindling by the second...eating out my insides, rotting the slender faith that remained. Yes, I’m fucking judgemental. Yes, I have a superiority complex. Do we really need to beat that dead horse again?
I tried to blow through dollar hand video poker, maxing credits to burn through the 28 dollars I had left. Blow through as in lose. Seriously. I work hard for my money and was trying to rip myself from it. Have I made this abundantly clear? Or that this place wasn't Disneyland? Have I yet?
Let this be a lesson for all to learn – Morongo casino is Hotel California...discounting everything save, "But you can never fucking leave." Expletive added.
I maxed bets to 3 dollar hands. Every last hand, as I would stand, ready to flee, I’d pull a four of a kind, a straight flush, full house. Every time I was two steps to the door, !Deuces Wild! would sink her talons, pull me back.
And cashing out meant interaction. This also was not an option -- at least for nothing short of 500.
I stepped back, fell to my knees, prayed Morongo allow me go free. I continued to offer my sacrifice, American currency acquired from an earlier dinner party in Palm Springs. I would give, she would give back, a vicious and haunting and relentless cycle. I started to think lustily, in flashes, the life I had so recently been living – open road, chill, darkness, freedom. I so yearned for it to return…so desperately wanted to cradle it and call it mine.
Bells…and fucking whistles…hum and stench and desperation. I wanted to cry. I maybe did. There were 4 credits left when I stood, intent only on escape. Forever.
I ran to my car. Seriously. And I'm guessing it was a sight to see, watching a grown man run from a casino in the middle of the desert in California, cursing himself audibly -- fuck, fuck, fuck -- then laughing audibly, thinking he was alone.
I hit the highway, scream sang the whole way home to stay awake…shot camera flashes in my face to ignite eyes and mind, today found one that follows tone...
And actually made it, rolling in at 3:42, excellent time, wondering again, always…
What is this life I’m living?
