Come-up-pance

I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve read his email about 7 times now, each time with intent of writing him back, but I can’t. I have this terrible gut feeling he’s one of those football jersey, flip flop wearing, beer drinking, long man shorts wearing in the middle of January - kind of guy. Pass. No thanks. 

If you travel to Las Vegas for holiday but hate having to wait in lines and furthermore think 15 minutes is an “Eternity!”, here’s a few alternative suggestions of things you can do that’s less frustrating and less time consuming...

Disneyland 

A leisurely drive in LA between 6am-8am or 4pm-7pm Monday-Friday

Any DMV in the country without an appointment 

And my personal favorite

Teaching certain people the proper way to enunciate the word “ask”. 

Aaand another thing!

If you think 15 minutes is a long time, sex with you must be just awful. 

Can’t wait 15 minutes = bad in bed. That’s all I hear when people bitch about having to wait 15 minutes. “I suck in bed.” Yup. I can totally see that about you.

Anyway

Prostitute or fashion? Hard to say? It’s still 80 degrees in Vegas during the day. I still turn on my air conditioner. She’s 185 pounds dressed like a $2 whore with every ounce of fat and stretch marks squeezing out of her top and shorts originally designed for a skinny woman not 185 pounds of blubber whilst waddling down the boulevard holding one of those giant ghetto plastic margarita decanters, but who knows for certain if she’s a prostitute? It’s the ghetto end of Vegas Blvd. Anything is possible. Maybe her friends told her she looks good? They lied.

“I don’t drink or do drugs. I just smoke pot.” 

Um. Ok. But you weigh 200 pounds and you’re only 25 years old. Is coke not a thing with your generation? Apparently your drug of choice is food. 

Be fat. Fine. But stop squeezing into clothes that clearly do not fit you. 

Before I moved to the art district, back when I lived in that part of town, I observed there were some girls, many girls actually, who could get jobs at casinos rather than hustling the strip or the truck stops on Tropicana across from my old apartment. Do these girls not know how to get jobs? Are they lazy? Are they illegals? Do they just prefer hooking? 

It’s a mystery. 

It’s Vegas.

I heard yet another guy mention how hard it is for him and his wife to meet people in Vegas to hang out with. I hear that a lot. It’s very difficult to meet people here. Especially in a city where every other person is trying to rob you, or will rob you, or have already robbed you, twice. 

Alas 

Everyone gets their comeuppance, not just Vegas. 

Karma. You know that person you complain to all your friends about? FUCK YOU. You had it coming. But you don’t see it, because you’re a dick. 

I used to suffer horrible daytime depression in Vegas. This city during the day was depressing as hell for me. For a long time. No reason. But as soon as the sun went down I felt great. Sun up, I felt wretched. Sun down, I felt amazing. It was like this every day for a long time. And then one day I finally leveled out into a dull dry indifference. Ahh finally I’m home. 

Indifference. That’s what you become. Indifferent or a criminal.

Las Vegas is honest. Everyone you pass on the street is either on drugs, drunk, trying rob you, a gambling junkie, (this close) to being homeless, homeless, and every vice and sin is made more public than social media. You’re either indifferent or a criminal. It’s a relief really. You don’t have to pretend like I did out in Los Angeles where everyone pretends. No one in LA says what they mean. There’s no honesty. The only person I could ever be 💯 percent myself around is Aramis. He never cares what I say because he knows me. I constantly had to walk on eggshells around everyone else. What a slow death. 

Vegas reminds me of Bukowski. They’re both honest. A robber walks into a casino and says, “I’m here to rob you.” It’s an unnecessary speech really. We already know.

“Give me your money or I’m going to kill you.” 

Yes. We know.

All I need now is to make friends with a prostitute with a heart of gold. Me and my wine. 

I’m starting to make friends with a late night Lyft driver. Does that count? She’s picked me up twice now from work and we chat like we’re long time friends. I’m all, “Tell me about your day. I’m tired of mine.” Two strangers in a car. What’s weird is she always has other passengers in the back seats when we’ve talked. They’re so quiet I always forget they’re there until we drop them off. But this Lyft driver and a woman I sometimes work with are the only two people in Vegas I talk to like actual human beings. I’ve lived in this town for a year and three months. It’s not a good town to start life anew unless you’re ok being alone. A lot. 

At last peace and quiet, in one of the most dangerous cities in the country.