My blistered feet upon returning the Mil-town reminds me of the great challenges that befall anyone who dares Vegas on a shoeless budget. Vegas of the 21st century reminds me of how many around the world must view the US. One spinning roulette wheel of a culture obsessed with speed as much as it is with quantity. Quality only appears once you have the major coin to drop into the same endless pit the more wealthy (or, soon to be stinking poor) Vegas lifers do.
Doing the Vegas strip as a pauper was more out of an obligation to my mortgage payment than to knowing what horse not to bet on. Since I spent a good deal of my time walking, my encounters with the other kind of horse / whores where much more numerous. From offers for loose pills and even looser women, to immigrants handing out flyers for inexpensive hootch, many people were selling themselves out consistently. The backdrop of the ever expanding Vegas skyline created a dizzying backdrop for the clustered madness of the street below. The deeper into the pit of Vegas you go, the more lonesome it feels when you're gambling on meeting people alone.
"Who's your friend when you're on the skids, divorced yet married to a one-arm bandit and you've run out of nickels for the slots..?"
Hauty Russian princesses rub elbows with messy italian boys holding acappela tunes together dispite their staggard drukeness. Here I met my match on the Vegas double-decker 'Deuce'. If you ride the bus for a long enough stretch, you'll soon have the epiphany that the bus driver tosses-off the same set of one-liners over the intercom every mile down the track. A true professional in my book. Must have developed the art of making the same small talk sound fresh night after night. To think, casino performers charge $200 a ticket do the same shtick nightly. All that needs to change is P.T. Barnums audience to empty thier pockets and loose their seats to the next crowd.
The Deuce line ends at the golden era of gambling known as Fremont Street. Somewhat forgotten by the big spenders, (unless one is searching for long island ice-tea's served out of a giant plastic bong) Fremont seems looming to the eye. I lingered down the flashing stroll during the overhead light show. I felt alone, the only one not fixated on the ceiling above. With the store front neon dimmed, it was as if time stopped and and everyone froze. An all too surreal vision for somebody not drunken enough to sway in one place for too long. The bus back was leaving and I was ready to find my way home. I wished the bus could grow wings. When the faces only get prettier if you can afford the asking price, it made me miss my beautiful 2 year old son even more.
401Forbidden
