We step into the inhospitable night. Beyond the driveway, beyond the mood-lit shrubs, the rows and rows of palms, there appears to be a street. I want to walk down the middle of it out of town.
Kyle signals for the first in a long, long line of cabs.
"Where we going?" I ask.
"Don't ask me. You wanted to leave."
"I wanted to go outside and go back in."
Kyle sighs and tells the cabbie to hit the Strip. I lean my head back. In the corner of my eye the marquee lights are flashing by.
"The All-Star Game is going on," I say.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
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