Inspired by working midnights for many summers at a slot and racetrack venue:
My third shift in as many days and he’s still here; tiny in the over-sized chair, the clothes haven’t changed but the smell has. People will start complaining soon, but he seems oblivious. As long as his right hand can reach out and wrap around that lever, he still has hope – hope that the next pull will be the lucky one – hope that he will prove the deniers wrong – hope that he can be validated again. Lights and buzzers for the man beside him while he is greeted by mocking silence. Again.
