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My grandson, Leo, is a tech whiz. He came over one Tuesday, saw me staring blankly at a home renovation show, and said, "Grandad, you need a hobby that doesn't involve alphabetizing the screws in the garage." He grabbed my iPad, a device I mostly used for checking the weather and reading news I'd already read in the paper. He showed me a few things. "Look, you can play games on this. It's not just for emails."

He set me up with a few puzzle games, but they felt like busywork. Then, almost as a joke, he said, "Or you could try this. It's kinda fun. You can play for pennies." He did a quick vavada लॉगिन on the device for me, set up a account with a ridiculously small deposit from my PayPal, and showed me the basics of a slot game with a classic car theme. It had old-fashioned cherries, bells, and a lucky seven that looked like a hubcap. I chuckled. "Alright, Leo, I'll give it a shot. Humor an old man."

After he left, I almost closed it. It felt silly. But the next afternoon, with nothing on the schedule, I opened the iPad. I remembered the credentials Leo helped me set and managed a clumsy vavada लॉगिन. The classic car game was right there. I tapped it. The first few spins were uneventful. I lost a quarter. Then another. I felt a familiar frustration, the same feeling when a part doesn't fit and you have to take the whole assembly apart again. I was about to quit when I hit a small combination. Bells and cherries. A win. Not much, but the little "cha-ching" sound made me smile.

It became my little ritual. Every day after lunch, I'd have my coffee, sit in my favorite armchair, and do my vavada लॉगिन. I wasn't playing to win big. I was playing for the tiny thrill of it, the same reason I'd buy a lottery ticket once a week. It was something to look forward to, a small moment of potential in an otherwise predictable day. I branched out, trying different games. I liked the ones with clear rules, not the too-flashy new ones. I treated it like a business, in a way. I had a strict budget—my "entertainment fund." If I lost my twenty-dollar allowance for the week, I was done until Monday. It gave me discipline.

Then, one rainy Thursday, it happened. I was playing a game called "Gold Rush," just spinning away while listening to the rain patter against the window. I triggered a bonus round. The screen filled with dynamite and gold nuggets. The multiplier started climbing. 5x... 10x... 20x... My coffee grew cold. I sat up straight, my old back complaining. The number kept going. It passed a hundred dollars. Then two hundred. My heart was pounding like I'd just run up a flight of stairs. The bonus round finally ended. I was staring at a win of over eight hundred dollars.

I didn't yell. I didn't cheer. I just said, "Well, I'll be damned," to an empty living room. I called Leo, my hands shaking a little. "Leo? That thing you set up for me on the iPad... How do I get the money out?"

He talked me through the withdrawal process. A few days later, the money landed in my account. It felt real. It felt earned, in a weird, digital way. Carol and I went out for a ridiculously fancy dinner that weekend, something we never do. I told her it was because she put up with me for forty-five years, but I told her the real story over dessert. She just shook her head and laughed. "Only you, Frank. Only you could turn playing on the iPad into a second income."

I still play most days. It's my version of a crossword puzzle, but with a little more spark. That win was fantastic, but it wasn't the best part. The best part was having a little project again. It gave my brain a puzzle to solve and a little shot of excitement to look forward to every afternoon. It’s my little secret, my own private pit stop. And every time I see that vavada लॉगिन screen, I just think… my grandson was right.