“Guten abend, Herr David.”
It was the floor manager of the casino, the man with the limp. He shook my hand and looked away, diffident, a bit shy. I’d only been to the casino twice but he remembered. That was his job. He was serious, grave, and this might have been an intentional projection because one instantly felt that this man could be trusted and, by extension, the casino itself. And of course he had a limp. Of course.
David plays poker in a German casino
The casino — small, with just two roulette tables, one blackjack and a couple of poker tables, and another room for slot machines — lives inside the old city hall building overlooking the town’s main square, right where the outdoor market comes on Wednesdays and Fridays. It’s a 19th century whimsical cross between Victorian and Gothic Brick, like a building you’d see at a poor man’s Disneyland.