Watching Methodists gamble on pull tabs

There’s a lust in their eyes us dope-heads and heathens are incapable of making. Like a Yankees fan, wins are ugly and losses quietly dismissed.

“Bill won $50 bucks once.”

“Gail won $5 and $20 last Sunday.”

They wear their disappointment like a retired sales manager wearing a too-hip leather jacket. It’s all around them, tight in the wrong places, exposing bellies as they talk about their daughters-in-law, the neighbor’s poorly constructed fence, or This Country™.

“Whoo-HAY!”

The man in the leather jacket hits a $20 ticket.

“You know where that’s going!” bawks his wife. “Straight to André!”

“It’s in my contract to spoil my grandson.”