Uncle Travelling Flash

I'm back, after eight years. Eight years since I sat at the wheel and studied the sequence of reds and blacks, odds and evens, trying to decipher a pattern within randomness. Making smart money from dumb luck and vice-versa. It's not as busy as I remember, perhaps last time was a weekend, or maybe the global economic meltdown has even reached Sin City. Strategy is simple: stick to playing the outside; an almost 50-50 chance of doubling your bet, and wait for a long string of reds and blacks, odds and evens to happen, then start betting the opposite way. If you lose, increase your bet by double plus a bit more, that way you'll always make money... unless you lose it all by hitting a losing streak and emptying your wallet or reaching the table's maximum, whichever comes first. The dealer spots my accent and gets to talking about how I don't get American comedy because British humour is so dry. I'm trying to focus my attention on where his little ball will tumble to a halt, so I don't reply, even though I'm thinking, "what about Benny Hill?" To my left stands an Asian guy in glasses and a pink Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, chain smoking and scattering hundreds of chips across the table. Sometimes he wins big and sometimes he loses big. Big booms and bigger busts, followed each time by the fishing out of another $100 bill, then another, then another, until there are only 20's left, and then finally there is nothing, and he vanishes. A short, stocky Italian-looking guy with slick hair and a slick silk shirt stands with his back to the table talking loud-drunkenly with two others. He turns, drops a single $500 chip on black, and turns back to continue whatever it was he was saying as the ball clatters slowly to a stop on red. Glancing back, he shrugs and lurches off after his companions who have already moved on. It's now been five reds in a row, and in my mind (and in my mind only) the probability of it being black next time has risen significantly. I drop a $20... and lose. So I double up and lose again, and again until it's eight reds in a row and I don't have enough cash left to double up so I just throw in what's left in my wallet and then it's nine fucking reds in a row and I'm walking quickly away from the table looking for an ATM, knowing that by the time I get back with more money it'll be too late, the ball will have finally stopped on black and I'll have missed it, and I curse my stupidity, knowing dumb luck had nothing to do with it.