In coming to a Trump resort, I’d fantasized of infiltrating the belly of the beast. I imagined a vacationland of excess, golden columns and gaudy chandeliers; tuxedoed servants spinning amongst the tokens of capital run amok.

What drives humans into the night? For some, it’s just a respite from the drudgery of the day, or a desire to negotiate pleasure and risk. For others, it's a means of empowerment, an assertion of social existence.