Shining brightly against the blue Oklahoma sky, the neon beckons.

Like a huge, glowing snake the neon wraps itself around the building, reflecting its yellow, red and purple off the vast expanse of black asphalt.

In the center of this mammoth, paved desert, sits the casino — Riverwind —an angular, curving building that would seem more at home in a “Jetsons” cartoon.

This is where the adults come to play.

On this Friday evening, the asphalt desert is covered quickly; cars, buses, RVs and the occasional motorcycle all lumber through the gates and make a temporary home here.

Like children at an amusement park, the drivers scurry for the entrance.

This will be their night, their big win.

Or, if they are more of the tourist type, they play a few slots, grab a bite to eat and go hear Julio Iglesias.

Inside, a million colored lights dance in the dark, cool atmosphere.

Against the stale, faint scent of cologne and cigarette smoke, the chirps and boinks of the gaming machines fill the air.

The players are here.

Seated in front of the acres of computer monitors, they push button after button, each hoping to leave here with more money than when they came.

The chirps and flashes continue.

It’s early Friday evening, and the floor is crowded.

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