Summer is definitely the right season to be reading something like this:
The casino sits at the edge of the San Carlos Reservation. Inside, the air is smoky and dim. Barry White plays on the sound system. Then Weezer. Slot machines ding, buzz, and simulate the sound of smashing glass. The gift shop sells straw hats and rhinestoned flip flops, nail polish and soda. Enlarged black-and-white photos hang in the hallway.. There is a picture of an Apache woman, head bowed, face in shadow, holding a child in the cradleboard. There is a photo of Geronimo, whose hand reaches for the pistol tucked into his waistband. The roulette and blackjack tables are empty, draped in heavy drop cloths. Retired couples and scattered loners gaze intently at screens, pulling levers and punching buttons. According to casino promotional materials, “At the Apache Gold Casino Resort, the magic of the ‘Apache Gold Legend’ lives on. Untold riches lie in this desert oasis, awaiting discovery.”
— Chapter 4, Oak Flat: A Fight for Sacred Land in the American West, by Lauren Redniss
