Second thoughts

I wasn't feeling quite right when we got back to the hotel from the Bellagio. I felt like I had been raped, and I didn't even see Cirque du Soleil. I could tell it was going to be tough to sleep on this one, so I decided to head over to the Wynn to see if I could change my luck.

I bellied-up to a nice $25 table with some veteran players. The Wynn knows how to do it, no funky endless shoes or crappy odds here, just good ol' fashioned gambling.

I was on a strict schedule, I needed to get out by 1:00 a.m., I told myself. So I bought in for $500 right off the bat.

I won a hand. I lost a hand. I won. I lost. I didn't have time for this...

In the monotony of it all, I started looking around the room. It didn't take me long to spot a prostitute across the pit. How did I know she was a prostitute? Well, I referred to a simple checklist.

Relatively hot? Check.

Fake tits? Check.

Was she gambling? No. Check.

Fat slob next to her drooling? Check.

He had obviously invested in her for the evening, but you could tell she couldn't stand the sight of him. You could see she wanted to be elsewhere.

All of a sudden, my game of 21 picks up. I can't believe it, I'm winning. But it's getting close to my self-imposed curfew. I bet $100 and double down. I lose. I color-up my chips. I won $300 back.

My trip gambling status: -$700