Saturday night and we're - the staff - once again at the dire NE Local.
Even G's tired of it, wants to find a new hangout, place to go, he's along tonight because there's plans - vague, unsubstantiated, to meet up with the old salad girl and party. He has fond memories of these party nights.
The bar, it's mostly empty, the nephew upon first arriving pays his dues into the VLT machine, $20.00 gone to no good effect.
Then G gives it a try, surprising, G doesn't usually gamble, his money goes quick as well.
Our food arrives.
And while they're eating a small, older man arrives, Mole-man from the Simpsons, there's a resemblance, he's casing the machine that G and the Nephew just quit.
You can see the plot, the outcome before it happens...
He puts in $20.00. And I warn the Nephew and G that they've "primed" the machine for him, sure enough, thick glasses, messy homeless dress, in ten minutes he cashes out $250.00.
He doesn't give up, he "plays" the game, stops the reels, makes strange passes on the machine, I'm watching, awed, beginning to think he might know what he's doing. He pumps another $60.00 in to the machine, cashes out again over $200.00. G and the Nephew, they're in agony, they quit too soon, I'm thinking he's some sort of idiot savant, he can see the inner flow of code, odds, probability, I'm beginning to believe in his strange powers, ask the waitress - "does he consistently win?" I ask her...
"No one consistently wins on the VLT's" she assures me, and I'm not sure I'm reassured.
Mole-man is done, eating now with his friends the smallest portion of his winnings.