Title: On the hour. Every Hour. Sands Hotel and Casino. 203 Largo de Monte Carlo. Macau

(fiction)

©Richard Mark Dobson

(Puntopia: quasi fictional street photography series)

Gambling is an all encompassing activity at the Sands. On the hour. Every hour. They should know, for at the Sands, they watch the punters pour in and pour out like sand in an hourglass. Cash slips though fingers, well, like grains of sand down at the Sands!

The punters, start with a pile of chips under their chin, and before long, the chips are piled high on the opposite side of the table. It doesn’t matter. The clock keeps ticking. Time slips by. The cash keeps flowing. From him to her. Here to there. Thee to thou. Now and thereafter.

How many stars are there in the Universe? Some reckon 1 billion trillion. And grains of sand on earth? Heck, a conservative estimate is 500 Quadrillion. But calculating how many dollars bills are stashed in pockets, wallets, socks, bra’s, knickers at the Sands, is quite frankly, anyone’s guess. But one thing for sure and not hard to fathom, is that much of the lucre spent down at the Sands, was not made legitimately. Yes the Sands is where racketeers go sit on the proverbial beach. Seen, not so inconspicuously in Hawaiian shirt and dark ray-bans, with glass of cognac in hand, a dolly bird on their arm and a pile of chips in their fingers, wearing aftershave that smells, well, like sun tan oil.

The hourglass, sometimes with the addition of metaphorical wings, is often depicted as a symbol that human existence is fleeting, and that the “sands of time” will run out for every human life. Well here at the Sands, for some of the punters, nasty, brutish, their time on the tables can be short, and when their luck runs out, which it eventually does, they leave solitary and poor.

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