SUNDAY SUN Editor Carol Martindale paid a visit to the shadowy street named Marhill in The City to learn about hope and despair in its popular arcades. She sketches her first experience of the subtle sights and sighs of these sinister slots.
MIDDAY ON Marhill Street can be mayhem, even midweek Wednesday when I was there.
The mini Las Vegas of Bridgetown is like no place else: A den of men. Lots of them swarming around, some excited, some glum.
Women are there also, older types, but in scarce supply. Younger women are busy in the nearby stalls of the Palmetto Street marketplace, betting on a different type of bargain.
Some shops provide food, but some others get wider patronage because they offer liquid refreshment as an escape from sudden or harsh discovery after the roll of the wheel turns out to be a fatal leap in the dark.
I count, dotted between very narrow, winding roads that reek of urine, as many as five arcades in this small, crowded area.
On the adjoining, more inconspicuous Spry Street, there are two more. There is also a racing and betting pool outlet on Marhill Street, where punters pay rapt attention to their race forms, studying them intently as if preparing for an exam. (CM)
Please read the full story in today’s Sunday Sun, or in the eNATION edition.
