![]() Its small arrow pointing in the other direction, over to the other side of the overpass, where there’s just a gas station. And the building fades over the granite as I come closer to it, where there’s finally the ramped exit with the green, direction sign reading, Resorts World Catskills: the arrow pointing straight. Speeding up the highway that runs and cuts these small towns by the blade of a semi’s horn, blaring down the rumble strips, pumping smoke into the cold, thin air like someone’s breath. All my clothes-casino clothes-stacked and layered in the trunk while I stop for a sandwich somewhere in Jersey. From the city, I rode up in the afternoon a packed car like I had a family inside. ![]() Orange lights reflect off the building, in the distance, which I could see from a couple miles down the highway, peeking over the cliffs protecting Sullivan County a red light on its roof, blinking.
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