Personal Narrative Essay: A Trip To The Casino

I grab the midnight blue, Marshall’s branded cart by the entrance. After fifteen minutes of rummaging through dozens of clearance racks and inspecting clearance furniture, my mom and I go to the checkout line. Twenty feet away, a white, metal basket holds a pile of leather wallets by other stands full of cheap, packaged candy, knockoff jewelry, and otherwise useless penny grabs. We walk towards the stand and rummage through the lot, holding them up in the air and looking for the other’s approval. Not too long after, I find a $20 Tommy Hilfiger wallet. The coffee brown, leather wallet dons the emblem in the bottom right corner, and simple, yet elegant, stitching outlines the perimeter and logo. On the inside, Tommy Hilfiger has inscribed his name on the front card pocket and “genuine leather” on the left card flap. A patterned crimson red and navy blue stripe runs down the middle. Navy blue synthetic fabric lines the money pouch and in the corner, a

For us, it’s just our usual routine whenever we hang out: go to the casino to get to the movie theater, hidden in the back by the arcade and bowling alley. We open the doors branded with two giant R’s and enter the main lobby. In the center were slot machines and poker tables, the slot machines’ flashing red button taunting tourists to dig yourself deeper and deeper into its pit and the poker tables inviting them to throw all their earnings away. The area is dimly lit and the place reeks of fresh tobacco and expired alcohol; to the right of us are food courts, the crackling of hot oil from Panda Express popping like firecrackers. Kirin, Aidan, Bradford, and I get our tickets from the automated ticket booth lined up against the marble wall before weaving through the dividers to get to the front of the concession