What is there to say about Las Vegas? Every time that I come here it’s the same story. The burst of optimism that surges as I disembark from the plane and that slowly dissipates as I stand in the taxi line. All around me a grotesque microcosm of the world’s denizens. College frat boys adventuring into the city of sin. Smiling and laughing, talking about the last time they were here and the hotness of the chicks just ahead of them in line. They dream of alcohol, gambling, strippers and prostitutes. Testosterone is heavy in the air around them. Then the always sweating, obese and overweight couples (who I always assume are American and from one of those middle states) some shuffling and barely able to pick up their feet and some on motorized scooters. Visions of hitting it big at the slots and eating big at the buffets dancing through their heads. Anything to forget the lives that they dreamed of when they were young and the what could have beens. There are the club girls just in from California looking to party. Their bodies, fit and surgically enhanced, scream that they want to get laid and get paid. And then the suits, there are always suits. Bleary eyed and dead-souled with an air of condescension, they look at their watches and and check e-mail on their mobile phones. So busy, always busy, have to keep moving, much to get done. But on the inside they dread the three or four day bullshit conference they are about to attend. They have nightmares about the marketing booths, the give-aways, the panel discussions no one gives a shit about and the incessant kowtowing to each potential client in the hunt for that next deal.
The taxi ride to the casino/resort is always the same. I exchange pleasantries with the driver, and we discuss the Las Vegas economy and the impending water crisis. It is not so much that I care about these topics, but what the fuck else is there to do.