Biloxi Blues

At night in a casino in Biloxi, Mississippi are two young men, one short and stocky, looking like a poor Orson Welles with a mad look in his eyes and a large mole on his neck. He’s wearing shorts, a white vest, with a striped short-sleeved shirt undone, and a baseball cap on the other way around. He takes off his 70s style sunglasses and surveys the domain. The other, tall and skinny, greased back straight hair, handsome as if a 70s porno star, black trousers and short sleeved shirt. Black Converse sneakers. There’s something wrong with one of his eyes. They walk around the tables slowly, the stocky one occasionally muttering something to the tall one and he just nods. They look like a pair of beautiful losers; geeky but cool. All the time looking suspiciously around them.

They enter the toilets to discuss their game strategy. They check the cubicles, making sure they’re all empty. When they come out with their plan sorted they lose all their money in less than thirty minutes.