The Gambler’s Fallacy

I had seventeen minutes left. I was sweating. The ringing of the slot machines had long since passed irritating and was hovering somewhere in the red mist just below unreasoning-rage-inducing. The others at the table, old and young and in-between, were barely visible outlines through the smoke and dim lighting. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't. Not without winning some of it back.

I glanced at my pile of chips again. Down to sixteen minutes. I wanted to keep those sixteen minutes. Sixteen is more than nothing. But then again...

"All in," I said, and pushed them into the pot.