Odors of heavy fried food mingling with old smoke formed a gauzy haze which hung greasily in the air. On the street low-calorie yogurts dipped in chocolate that oozed with fat and cholesterol were sold to weight-conscious women who modestly proclaimed the wonders of such foods on their thighs. Arcades noisily beeped and chortled, choking greedily on the coins they were fed. Ostentatiously flashing they tried to outdo the Bingo parlor next door, whose neon lights smiled outrageously on the street below, enticing mixed company to peer through its murky windows. Those whose curiosity had been piqued could see a group of thirty or forty elderly men and women toiling under the cruel hot lights, feverishly striving to win. In the corner one woman won. She was of average height, and like many of her crowd, had the inevitable hair dyed dubious shade of blue or mauve. On her skin she wore a curiously tight expression. Through the folds of fat, her wrinkles sagged wearily, her frigid scarlet-lined mouth had cracked to an expression of great self-satisfaction. Next to her, her not so genteel friend (a large woman with popping eyes and an equally large flowered hat) was noted to exclaim: "Why Ida, you've made bingo again! It's like I always said you've got more luck than was coming to you! Why I don't know, all I know is you did it again!" She walked away shaking her head in amazement at the small miracle of Ida's luck. Outside fluorescent lamps glared from several restaurants, capturing a sharp reality, every follicle of hair, every pore defined, exposed under the harsh naked light.

Further on, complete darkness disguised a thin strip of battle scarred beach. It had sand that oozed between the toes with sickly griminess and an abused ocean which lapped weakly upon the shore attempting to lick itself clean. Everywhere condominiums had already sprung up infectiously beside the dying sand and sea. The whole strip appeared to be a garishly inflamed wound that neon lights could not beautify and Ida's luck could not change.