If the people weren't so old and shabby, they would look like a shift clocking in: streaming swiftly and silently past a few solitary smokers into the blank-faced, brick-walled, block-sized money factory, a continuous line of New Yorkers stepping off of buses in Yonkers. No lingering or idle talk, they go in ones and twos straight to the machines to begin the day's lever-pulling. It's depressing but crucial work: The state is banking on them, to the tune of a billion dollars... More >>>