From my side of the room I could hear the ball bouncing up and down as the room collectively held its breath.

While I couldn’t see the board through a haze that only a poorly ventilated room of chainsmokers could produce, I could tell what was happening.

“No more bets!” the Atlantic City casino pit boss barked.

I was in town for the local MMA show, and one misadventure after another had dropped me in the underbelly of degeneracy.

And while it was 10 years ago, this memory is anything but hazy to me.

As I inched closer to the roulette table my assumption was verified after a quick count - the table was loaded with high rollers. It was no wonder why things got so quiet. The professional degenerates of Atlantic City were betting big.