The cocktail waitress sighed as she placed my seventh free drink on the slot machine’s ledge—her eyes said 'you’ve been here too long,' but the machine’s flashing lights whispered 'just one more spin.' You know this dance: the chair sticks to your thighs, the air smells vaguely of stale champagne, and time evaporates like spilled vodka on hot reels. By 3 AM, even the slot attendants sto...