• 213

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    You are in two places at once now. You can see and know quite empirically that she’s been blowing the money on slot machines so far. You focus a moment longer and you find that you’re able to influence her decisions. Your will and hers become one as soon as a seven, plum, and lemon furnish nothing but a flash of backlighting. You convince her to begin walking around the casino until passing by the sports lounge. Some foreign signal is coming through, almost like a third will on top of the two you’re experiencing. Definitely a telepathic signal, you conclude as you walk onto thicker carpeting and sit down in a plush Piven leather arm chair.

    It seems to be channeling through one of the televisions among the array of screens in front of you. A part of you compares yourself to that mastermind villain in Watchmen, distilling meaningful information from a simultaneous morass of television networks. Now which channel is it…Fox Sports Net…ESPN 2…Trackside Live…and then something catches your attention. Or rather, yours and Mehitable’s attention together, a large phallic structure on one of the screens broadcasting a horse race in Colorado Springs. The announcer previews the upcoming race with a verbal list and description of each horse from best odds to least: Vim’n’hauteur, Geppetto, Clarion, Lemon Limerick, and Lost Dakota.

    You know where the rest of the money is going and almost trip over a gilded waste basket before demanding a card for placing bets.

    The End.

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