Cockfighting: Some People's Drug of Choice
Gambling is a topic I would not touch with a ten-foot pole, for very personal reasons.
But after yesterday, I thought I had to.
I was just with a female friend, enjoying spending time with her, when she nonchalantly mentioned that she was still at it – that she spends many a night in a gambling joint. She knows her savings is dwindling because of it, her family life is affected, that she has to get out before all is lost. She does not, and will not. My brow is furrowed and my worry is palpable but she remained unfazed.
I know this. I have seen this.
Gambling, for the past century, have metamorphosed and have taken several different forms, each effective and successfully luring man from himself. For one, owners of gambling joints have become more sophisticated and daring. Despite strict regulations, gambling dens have managed to populate and edge itself into the fringes of society without anyone realizing it is there. Boxed in 80 x 50 rented offices, black hallways with semi-private booths, they are there tucked in your friendly neighborhood. No screaming neon lights here. Only a constant stream of people, alternately covering their faces and skittish with excitement and guilt, betray their presence.