My Mother, the Gambler

She certainly didn't look like a criminal, sitting there with her blond hair intricately coiffed...The stylist had made it look like a sfogliatella...My mother's hair possessed the same golden hue, the same artful construction of multilayered swoops...That this delectable human might want my advice made me feel giddy.

Of course, for a long time I didn't know that what my mother was doing was illegal...Possibly my inwardness gave the impression I might be in contact with whatever invisible forces were responsible for luck.

Read at The New Yorker