These scenes are a reminder of how adept we’ve become at pretending the glue-gunned feathers holding together our economic and moral fabric are going to hold.
I come from gambling stock. My great-grandfather on my mother’s side was a degenerate Scandinavian card player who died in a trailer outside Vegas back when Vegas was more holes in the ground than hotel rooms. My grandfather inherited some of those genes and fleeced more than a handful of of allied servicemen during World War II. My father was the kind of gambler that could have become problematic but stopped—like the drinking—in his later years. The narrative goes he was forced to give up his vices, but the older I get the more I think he just got tired of them. Or maybe tired in general.
I’m still not sure how I’m wired. I do have the lineage and…
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