Friday, April 30, 2010

The Streak - 78

I step out of the plane and it's like setting foot on some inhospitable planet that's too close to its sun. But this is not Las Vegas.

I walk across the glinting tarmac to the terminal. In the distance a black pyramid shimmers in the haze. An obelisk, a sphinx. Beyond them the desert floor warps into foothills and a mountain of dry, brown dirt. But this is not Las Vegas.

When the automatic door parts a blast of frigid air envelops me. I feel the sting of chlorine in my eyes. Dead center before me sit rows and rows of nickel slots, a greeting party of leering, three-eyed monsters. A fat lady sits at one but faces the other way, out the window, as her husband feeds money to the neighboring machine.

This is Las Vegas.

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