*Sher Khan voice* How interesting.

I think I'm experiencing the writer's equivelant of baby blues. Finally get a story finished and approved of (so far, anyway) and now I'm sitting here thinking "What do I do now?" Besides work, of course.

I'm looking for inspiration to do something else and not finding it. I have another story at home, one that could stand a snowball's chance in hell of being published. But the muse isn't there. This is so weird!

I guess...I'll just have to wait until it comes. I know this can't be forced, I've tried and failed miserably. Maybe another short story. Hmmmm. Yeah, that might work. No need to jump into a full novel. *ponders*

Well, in the meantime...

I got my dress from Janny yesterday. Fits like a dream. I can sit without choking, breathe without difficulty and there's room if I gain another pound or two. (Yes, I'm still working on that) It's gorgeous. If we ever get pictures, I'll figure out a way to post them. I have ALWAYS wanted a dress like that, but had a hard time finding one that didn't make me look like I was cocking a hip out. Damned uneven hips. Now I have one. Yay!!! *poings* Now all I need is my poster from Sildar so I can hang it in my cubicle. Hint hint hint.

*cocks head* What if....

Just another night...

Smoke. The clink of glasses. Chimes, bells and whistles on the slot machines. Faint clicks of betting chips hitting each other. And my favorite sound. The snick of cards being dealt.

"Five, seven, king, six. Fifteen, thirteen, ace, sixteen. Dealer shows seven." Pay off the blackjack.

"Hit." Snick.

"Nineteen."

"Stay."

"Hit." Snick.

"Twenty-three." A sound of disgust as the player pushes away. Collect the cards and chips.

"Stay." Flip my card over.

"Seventeen." Pay the winner, collect the cards and chips. The man with the blackjack smiles and hands me a chip. Twenty bucks.

"Thanks for you time, darling."

"Have a good night, sir." I put my tip in the tip box and smile as he walks away with his winnings. I don't get big tips like that often. I smile, I'm friendly, but I'm not busty. I swear, the amount of tips us female dealers get is in direct proportion to our cup size. Darla's a D cup and she makes twice as much as me on any given night.

"Seven. Queen. Twelve. Fourteen. Dealer shows three."

"Hit."

"Fourteen."

"Hit."

"Twenty two." Collect cards and chips.

"Stay." Flip my card.

"Thirteen. Eighteen." Collect cards and chips. Kyle walks up as the other two players shake their heads and leave.

"How are you doing, Bek?"

"I'd rather be dealing the tournaments." Kyle chuckles. Tournament dealing means no tips and double time. Usually equals out. I unlock the tip box, take out my chips and put them in my bag. After each table, I take them to the cashier. They keep track of all tips and winnings. I punch myself out of the table, grin at Kyle and head over to the cashier.

Just another night...

"Hey Bek. Last one?" Larry. One of the nicer cashiers.

"Two more, actually. I'm going for a walk." I hand him my bag. He empties the chips into a designated slot, tallies the total and logs it in the computer.

"Have fun."

"Thanks." I pocket my tip bag, wave to Larry and head for the hallway. A stroll around the perimeter of the casino is my preferred non-eating break. Stretch the legs, ward off advances from drunk guests trying to score, chat with my co-workers. I spot the twenty dollar tipper heading my direction. I smile and nod. I'm still on duty, can't be seen consorting with guests. He smiles back and as we pass, he slips something into my hand. I look down. It's a napkin. I open it, mindful of the cameras that are always watching. Keep your hands in plain sight at all times. Nothing falls out of the napkin. It's his name and number, plus a time to call. Aw. How sweet. I look up at the nearest camera, grin and wave the napkin at it. "I'm being hit on!" I mouth. The guys in security ought to get a chuckle out of that. I pocket the napkin, check my watch, and head for my next table.