or A Visit to a Casino

We slouched through the sclerotic artery of the Capital Beltway, my husband at the wheel. I turned to my book* and read about a glittering glass city floating in the Atlantic, a haven for the rich to escape a future drowning world. The Floating City was designed in concentric circles, each dedicated to a specific class and purpose. Only the elite could enter the inner circle, an Eden where no expense or effort was spared to fulfill their every desire. The workers who toiled to fulfill the dreams of the elite were bused in each day through a tunnel from the broken, flooded mainland.

The voice of the Navigator intoned, “You have arrived at your destination.” I looked up to find myself on a circular road ringing a massive glass and metal edifice that could have been the Floating City of my book. A monstrous golden lion stood guard over the complex, imperiously crushing dreams of luck and riches under his enormous paws. We entered through the lowest circle of Hell, the parking garage. Exit from this level was not easily accomplished. Dragging our luggage we wandered the aisles like lost souls until finally stumbling upon the well hidden elevators. Somewhere Satan was laughing.
With a mechanical hiss we rose to the Casino level. The serpentine hallway was thronged with scantily clad women teetering on six-inch stilettos followed by sharp-suited men with hungry eyes. Teams of watchful security guards mingled with the crowd. ATMs were arrayed along the walls at strategic intervals, and through doorways we glimpsed serried ranks of game machines emitting a disorienting cacophony of flashing lights and electronic sounds. The humans here were mere go-betweens for the machines, doomed to forever carry cash ejected from the ATMs to feed the ravenous appetites of the insatiable game machines, which occasionally vomited forth a dribble of coinage to keep hope of luck alive.
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