She crouched like a tiger honing in on its prey. She sniffed and picked up the scent of a slot machine with no name. “That’s the one,” she whispered. She had never been wrong before.
On Fire, by Mark Tulin
2/4/2018
Granny could barely walk. She balanced on her knotty-pine cane as she entered the casino with all the bright lights, the rings, and pings of the slot machines.
She took a deep breath into her weak lungs as if she were inhaling the aura of good luck and fortune. She moved as slow as her hundred-year-old body would allow. She crouched like a tiger honing in on its prey. She sniffed and picked up the scent of a slot machine with no name. “That’s the one,” she whispered. She had never been wrong before.
I planted a soft pillow under Granny’s butt before she sat down.
She got comfortable real fast.
She removed the casino card from the chain around her neck. Surprisingly, she played the maximum on the whole board. She said that the slot machine was loose and ready to go. “Light my fire, amigo!” she cried. “Set the night on fire!”
Her eyes rolled around in her head and changed colors from brown to blue, to green.
“It's alive!” she shouted.
With her thin, bony fingers she gently touched the face of the machine and began speaking in tongues, revealing a more mysterious layer to her personality. She hopped off her seat like she were a teenager again and began to dance to an esoteric Jim Morrison tune that was playing in her head.
“It’s the mojo,” she said. “I’ve got the damn mojo back. Wow, wee!”
When she sat back down, she made sure no one was looking and had a serious conversation with the one-armed bandit. The slot machine seemed to be talking back to her, but no one knew for sure. Whatever she said, it had a dramatic effect on the slot machine. It rattled, shook, and blinked its light bulbs in approval.
"Light my fire, baby. Set the night on fire!”
She began to win, and win big. Four-hundred-dollar vouchers popped out of the machine like it was a broken toaster. She stuffed voucher after voucher into her handbag until there was no more room.
The slot machine rocked so hard that it broke off from the floor hinges. Smoke poured out of its top. It began to spin wildly. Rows of strawberries displayed on the screen. The machine caught fire, and all you could hear were the cries of the casino employees and the sound of fire engines making its way into the casino trying to douse the flames.
I turned to look for Granny. She had already cashed in her vouchers and was ready to go.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Let’s go home and take a nap.”
Crow On The Wire 
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