All residents of Surrey should be outraged at this debacle. Unbelievable.
Her name, for the purposes of this post, is Tina. She keeps working the slot machine, impatiently, with an intensity that seems angry. Furrowed brows, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a bun, but wisps keep falling out that she pushes back behind her ear. Her clothes are clean, but clearly have seen better days, and the space behind her collar-bone tell me she could use more than a few good meals.
Finally, exasperated, she gets up and heads for the door and I follow her outside, where I find her sucking back the smoke on a cigarette as if it’s a lifeline, scuffing some bits of gravel on the sidewalk with the toe of her broken down boots.
We start talking, I tell her who I am and that I am doing a post on the slots in the Newton Bingo Hall. She agrees to talk with me but…
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