But I know that is as far from the truth as it can be; I know that that child has been left there alone, because he cannot access the gambling area, even though he is so tiny he could easily slip under the desk, unseen.
He has been left there because his father felt the relentless urge to gamble, even though it is a beautiful, sunny, Easter Sunday and the amazing Lugano lake is just one hundred meters away.
Security comes shortly after and takes care of the child; his big brown eyes dart back and forth between the men in the black suits and his warm Coke, probably the closest link to his father that he has now.
I wanted to write an article in which I would analyze the neurological aspects of the gambling addiction in a detached, formal fashion. I wanted it to offer glimpses of both the glamorous side of it, such as a poker game in which life-changing sums where exchanged, and the degenerate side of it, such as a millionaire who lost his company at the green tables. I wanted it to be smart, witty and sprinkled with funny insights.
I wanted it to offer crazy facts, explaining why card games are so fascinating, such as the fact that there are many more possible ways to arrange a deck of cards than atoms in our Solar System.
But as I see this tiny kid shuffling his small feet and asking where his father might be, I feel the void of human weakness sinking deep into my soul.
I’m sure that kid will be fine and will grow up to be a great man, but right now all I can think of is the fact that to be human is too hard a job, for humans.