The green exit sign loomed above, pointing the way: "Casinos next right." We zoomed off the highway and parked under the flashing neon lights which cut through the dark Nevada night. My co-conspirators and I stumbled out of the car, lighting the first of what became an endless stream of cigarettes. It was not far to the casino. Here we were faced with the relentless oppression of the American Dream. The glitzy lights sell the possibility of instant, painless success, but the early morning patrons spelled out a different story. Old ladies and grubby men sat, lonely, by the machines pushing dollar after dollar in a seemingly unconscious haze. The danger was everywhere, but we had a different mission to accomplish. I had no expectations to win money — it was just a token for the ride. I was here for the ambiance, the thin film of scum lingering on the slot machines, the smell of broken dreams intermixed with the acrid aroma of smoke, and the free booze.
	The body does not always follow the mind. Mine was foolishly crying out for rest, not realizing what lay ahead. I couldn't listen; sleep was useless to me. But by then, way past the witching hour, the cries were getting too strong, and I knew that only Vivarin would stave off the inevitable. A short walk in the cold and three caffeine pills later, I was shaking, but awake. We slinked through the wide glass doors of the Eldorado, into a swirling array of glistening lights, shining metal machines and scantily clad waitresses. Using the logic that comes with a university education, we followed a waitress back to the bar for our first drink. Reno can't be tolerated with the clear thoughts of sobriety. Too soon the empty lives would become oppressive, the stench overwhelming, and then the neon roller coaster ride would be too much to handle. I deadened my nerve endings with a Long Island Ice Tea, a nasty concoction overloaded with five types of booze which is guaranteed to fog the mind. I started out the gambling with a roll of quarters and a disinterested smile. Siting down by a bank of machines, I gingerly relaxed on the padded chair and looked over the beast. The drink had not clouded enough of my judgement, and the gambling fever had yet to set in. I was here for the novelty, and nothing more. Only later would the experience start to have the surreal quality that pervades Reno. So, I put in quarter after quarter, expecting nothing and getting less. Before I knew it, five bucks had slipped into the nether reaches of the one-armed bandit, and I had finished my drink. It was time to go.