THE ROAD into the central Russian town of Yelets is lined with workers trying to sell off the leftover products from their bankrupt television factory. At night the scene changes. Crowds of people mill at the bus station heading for the markets in Moscow, 400 km to the north. In suitcases and rucksacks they haul back goods to sell locally at a slight profit.
With unemployment high people are "twisting and turning as they say in Russian, in a desperate attempt to make ends meets.
Yet somebody in Yelets must have big money, as a local businessman, Gennady Savenkov, has decided that what this severely depressed town needs is a casino. Recently I was a guest at the Ph Club, Ph standing for Phoenix.
Mr Savenkov battled long and hard for the right to bring gambling to Yelets. The town is in the "black earth" farming belt, one of the most staunchly communist pockets of the Russian provinces, and the conservative mayor refused to register the casino. It took a ruling by the regional court, upholding Mr Savenkov's right to free enterprise, to make the venture possible.
At 10 o'clock on a Thursday night, a total of two clients were moving from the poker table to the roulette wheel attended by a veritable army of croupiers, cocktail waitresses and security guards. The strippers were having a night off.
"It does get busier," Mr Savenkov assured me. "Rich people come in from other towns as well. Typically, they play with up to $2,000 a night."
Mr Savenkov, who was wearing an emerald green nylon sports suit and sipping a champagne cocktail, said he made his own personal fortune by opening a network of petrol stations after retiring from the army.
His army background had helped him, he said. "Our people have forgotten how to work. But the army gave me discipline, a more adventurous mentality. It's what you need for business."
Locals argue as to whether the casino is a useful addition to the town's facilities. Mr Savenkov claims it is helping to provide employment in Yelets. How much the owner - who has a fourstorey country house complete with jacuzzi and a fleet of cars, including a BMW - pays his staff is a secret.
Galya, a waitress whose dark make up gave her eyes a bruised look, was sullen when the boss ordered her to bring him another champagne cocktail and some black caviar sandwiches. "I'm always unhappy. I have an unhappy personality," she said.
Natasha, a trained nurse, now working as a croupier, was more cheerful, although she admitted she would prefer to be following her profession, if only she could afford to live on tile wages.
The only two players that evening were sportsman Boris Gridnev, who has been entered 17 times in the Guinness Book of Records for feats of strength, and his girlfriend, Vera. "We have been bitten by the gambling bug," laughed Vera, adding that the couple usually spent about $100 a time.
"The players are sick. They're like alcoholics. I do not pity them," commented the owner, who said he never gambled himself and drank only in moderation.
Whom did he lay? He seemed puzzled by this question. "Well," I said, "there are so many poor people struggling in Russia now. I just wondered whether you felt any responsibility for the less fortunate."
He said he gave away free petrol to the local ambulance service, but admitted he found as many ways as possible to avoid paying tax.
Did he not fear that the poor could lose patience and sweep the rich away in a new Russian revolution? Again he seemed puzzled. Evidently this was not something he had thought much about.
"Russia will not go communist again," he said after a moment. But when Galya arrived with the caviar sandwiches, he did not touch them. Perhaps the interview had spoiled his appetite.