The Hospital Tree
Frank never minded the small things, and as the squeak from the cartwheels bounced off the naked, white walls, he didn’t mind that either.
The hall was dark except the faint glows of the half-lit fluorescent lights that shone on the linoleum tiled floors. The halls themselves weren’t too long, but long enough for Frank’s left knee to start acting up again.
The hall was dark except the faint glows of the half-lit fluorescent lights that shone on the linoleum tiled floors. The halls themselves weren’t too long, but long enough for Frank’s left knee to start acting up again.
The House
The house always wins. Anyone who tells you differently has never played a game for money in their lives. You bet a small, relatively safe, amount and a win may come or it may not. Doesn’t matter to you because you only played sixty cents per game. So, you play again. Pull the slot. Roll the dice. Spin the wheel. Call for the next card.
But you lose.
Oh well, it’s only sixty cents. But now you’re in for a dollar twenty because you play again. Time passes and fifty tries later, you’re down thirty dollars. Not an awful lot but it was still money that could have gone into the gas tank. But you’re sure you’ll break even because sometimes you do win. Of course you do. That’s just how they get you to come back.
But you lose.
Oh well, it’s only sixty cents. But now you’re in for a dollar twenty because you play again. Time passes and fifty tries later, you’re down thirty dollars. Not an awful lot but it was still money that could have gone into the gas tank. But you’re sure you’ll break even because sometimes you do win. Of course you do. That’s just how they get you to come back.