The Sleaze of Atlantic City Written and Photographed by Melinda Maclean

I wanted to get away. From the city. From my cramped apartment. From the numbing routine of trying to survive. Where can you go when your wallets is almost empty but your wandering heart is crying out to move beyond the New York City skyline... Atlantic City here I come.

On March 11th, my friend and I took the 10am bus from Gate 80 at the Port Authority Bus Terminal to the Borgata Casino and Hotel in Atlantic City. Depending on what casino you go to, the trip can cost around $20 (roundtrip with cash back). It's a great one-day getaway. The other passengers were mostly older single women and a few couples.  A smartly-dressed woman who looked like a young grandmother sat in the seat adjacent to ours. She had a peaceful, almost beatific smile on her face as we pulled out of the dark passage of the terminal into the hazy sunshine of NYC. As we got deeper into Jersey, she started talking to herself. After a few minutes, she stood up slowly and started up the aisle to the front of the bus. Here we go, I thought. She's going to stop the bus and demand to get off and we will all have to spend the day in a field next to an electrical plant. She sat and talked with the bus driver for a few minutes and then walked back to her seat. I asked her what happened and she said that she could see in the mirror that the bus driver was falling asleep. So she decided to not take her eyes off of his for the next two and half hours to make sure we didn't end up crashing. I was thankful. And the slot machines were waiting.

Atlantic City is a place of extremes. There is the sunlit boardwalk filled with families and couples walking lazily, wearing over-sized Atlantic City sweatshirts with poker card emblems. The view of the ocean makes you draw a deeper breath to fill your NYC lungs with the clean air. The boardwalk offers up many store fronts, somewhat reminiscent of Coney Island: salt water taffy stores, palm and tarot card readers, antique stores, shops filled with 99 cent sunglasses and 5$ Atlantic City T-shirts. Part of the boardwalk resembles a smaller Vegas, with showy thematic facades like the Old West. In the distance you can trace the outline of a closed down amusement park which faces the ocean.

Sands Casino

Once you enter the casinos you are lucky to find your way out. If you make your way past the slot machines, row upon row of silver topped old ladies, cigarette in one hand, a big plastic cup of quarters in their lap, pushing the bet button and watching the lemon wedges, cherries, and joker figures come up in three partitions. Win or lose the gambler's expressions seemed the same - stoic and determined. The constant ringing of the slot machines puts you into a trance which can only be broken by stepping outside. My friend and I went to several casinos and my favorite part was using the bathroom. The Taj Mahal, the Borgata, Caesars...the bathrooms are majestic, imperial palaces...right out of a fairy tale. Each stall is like a NYC studio apartment. Golden toilet paper holders. Faux marble sinks. Not one speck of dust or dirt. Luxurious white towels. And you can smoke while you regroup, check your pockets for any extra money, and get ready to go and face the slots again.

If you walk along Pacific Avenue (one street away from the boardwalk). The street is lined with dozens of liquor stores and pawn shops displaying the same ominous sign CASH FOR GOLD. There is an endless parade of down and out souls, hanging on corners, looking for money in the gutter dropped by passing tourists. In one vacant lot several men had gathered to sit near a garbage bin fire (right out of the Depression) and other drunken figures clothed in thick layers of jackets and hooded sweatshirts patrolled the street looking for easy marks.

The Atlantic City jitney is the easiest way to get around if you don't have a car. The jitney is little bit bigger then a large van, seating less then twenty. One pulled up to us as we stood on Pacific Ave. The driver, long-haired with sunglasses, swung the doors open before coming to a stop. Classic rock blaring from the radio. My friend and I got on and we were speeding away to get to the Borgata to see the Pogues play a show.