Gamble

A red carpet rolled out into the street. Inside was rich gold light and and the warmth that comes from fake potted plants and people who mill around for sport.

Further inside there are two grandiose and statuesque mahogany doors brazened with tribal patterns and mystery. On the other side of the doors is a thick haze of cigar smoke and jazz based piano playing that makes everyone frown just a little less. All around are patrons sat at poker tables and bars. Women with scant sequins gowns that grace the floor and pastel colored hair laze around watching the men throw their chips in persistence and luck. 

Ladies in oriental dresses carry drinks to patrons and slip in cards here and there. They have various lengths of silken ebony hair and pale skin. Their makeup is excessive yet skillfully done. Their lips are partly ruby and their smiles are partly sly. 

A woman with mint green hair in a Bettie Page esque style sits next to a man with a black velvet sport coat. She wears an envious green dress. It's sleeveless with a low v at the collarbones. The dress is sequins and covers her toes. He fingernails are a sharp emerald and she wears a small planetary ring. The man next to her is intently watching the roulette ball as it traipses through fields of red and black red and black. He is dressed all in black except for his shoes, which are a velvet emerald. The ball stops and the man smiles slightly. The woman's grip tightens around his arm. He goes again and again. Sometimes winning, sometimes losing. But slowly, he amasses a small fortune. 

In another corner is a mister in a cream colored suit. He wears many rings of substantial sizes and a crevasse of the richest sapphire. He has eyes of opals and shoes encrusted with diamonds. He proudly wears chains and adorning his breast are medals of prowess and dignity. He sits at a blackjack table with a drink in his hand and counts the cards superiorly. His chips slowly construct a daunting castle. 

Finally, in the middle of the room, a woman in a lustful red floor length gown that goes up to her neck and printed with glided vines flow downward leans near a poker table. Her hair is down long and jet black and her eyes are slitted and amber. Her lips are painted red like a heart and her complexion is weirdly beige. She eyes a man in a black suit with a large pile of chips at his side. She smiles clandestinely and sighs fairly. She constantly muses with her hair and winks at the man when he wins another hand. And as he keeps winning hands, keeps requesting drinks, he moves her closer with rambunctions of lady luck and wealth sharing. And she smiles wider. 

After a few hours of this and that a few graced patrons seem to amass that of their weight in wealth. They saunter past the waitresses and go to collect their earnings. They all smile toothy grins as some have greedily gained entry to a wealth of persistence, some have simply used their luck once more, and some have used their senses to tag along. 

And all are turned to ash as they collect their winnings. Their money and jewels fall upon floor pitifully. 

For the House always wins.