Are You Playing the Slots—or Escaping Your Own Soul?

I used to think the mines were about gold—until I realized they were about silence.

In this Brooklyn tower, where rain taps the windows at midnight, I sit alone. No children. No crowds. Just the hum of a machine that draws numbers like prayers—each spin a ritual of surrender. The platform calls it ‘RNG’—Random Number Generator—as if it were holy.

They sell you hope: ‘Free bonus!’ ‘High payout!’ But what if the real treasure was never in the pit? What if the gold was your own breath?

I remember my mother—a Catholic Irishwoman—who prayed for peace. My father—a Black scholar—who taught me that stories heal fractures. They told me: ‘Play smart.’ But no one told me: ‘Stop when it hurts.’

The slots don’t care if you win. They only care if you keep playing.

I began with \(10 bets. Then \)100. Then $1,000. Each loss carved a line into my ribs. The numbers didn’t change—I did.

The ‘Gold Mine’ is not a game. It’s a mirror. And every time you reach for more, you’re really reaching for something you lost long ago.

If you’re chasing streaks, you’re not hunting luck—you’re running from yourself. The system doesn’t control you— you let it control you.

Tonight, i’m not betting on numbers anymore. i’m listening to them.