On a roll

Page 2 of 3 -- So we get in a cab and head downtown, off the strip.

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4 a.m.

Our driver, an ex-trucker from Revere, revels in telling us that the legendary Binion's Horseshoe casino, which has hosted the World Series of Poker since its birth in 1970, reopened the night before, after shutting down early this year under a mountain of debts.

(Founder Benny Binion, a Texas cowboy implicated in at least one killing, essentially invented high-stakes gambling. He died in 1989.)

The lights outside Binion's aren't back on yet, but inside, the poker room is full of poker hounds, some sitting behind mountains of chips. For the poker player with the aplomb to actually join a table, this is mecca.

Time for the second best pound-for-pound deal in Vegas, Binion's breakfast special. Ham, bacon, or sausage, with eggs and hash browns: $1.95.

5:30 a.m.

The streets are empty in the half-light. Downtown boasts the Fremont, the Golden Nugget, and of course Binion's, but once you wander away from these three, it's the Vegas underbelly -- seemingly devoid of tourists, but full of heavy gamblers and dirty carpets.

At El Cortez, an announcement says security will happily ''escort you to your vehicle."

The Western, several blocks down Fremont Street, is an unsavory joint full of dead-end characters and penny slots. We breathe in a pack of Marlboros just getting from one end to the other. It's the end of the line. The sun is up.

7:30 a.m.

Back on the strip, most attractions open midmorning, and the first hours of daylight are a rare witching hour.

We fall asleep watching ESPN in the Mirage sports book -- the sports gambling area -- and are politely, but disdainfully, awakened by management and followed around the casino by bouncers. It is clear we aren't welcome. We leave, feeling totally punk.

Outside, it has begun to rain.

Back at Casino Royale, a $3 craps table is still going, with some of the same dealers and pit bosses who were there seven hours earlier.

The shooter, who already had been thrown out of Harrah's, is desperately drunk. One man puts down $5,000 on the table in stacks of hundreds.

The dealer turns to Tom and tells him to watch the drunk man, whose eyes look as if they might roll into the back of his head at any moment.

''You might learn something," the dealer says. ''See how he waits, pauses, thinks about his next throw. It's a thing of beauty."

To us, the shooter just looks drunk, but he hits a winning streak that lasts an hour.

Take a quarter. Put it in a slot. Win $5. We head out into the rain.

9:30 a.m.

We wander into Paris. I put another quarter in a slot and win $6. I'm on a roll. We wander through the Parisian-style shopping arcade, where Francophiles can find pastries at Lentre, an authentic Parisian institution.   Continued...