Boogie In Vegas

From birth to now, I’ve avoided the City of Sin. Movies and television had already set a crippled vision into my mind. A greasy picture full of corruption and weakness, all things I had plenty of in my life, thank you very much.

Well, this weekend it was time to see the beast firsthand. The opportunity was handed to me on a rusty weather-beaten platter, and I had the guts to say, “Why the hell not?” One must always leave the safety of the nests we create for ourselves, and take a few steps through the fiery pits of our time. It keeps the brain fresh and the noodle limber, not to mention the potential of actually enjoying one’s self. Yes, such quests must be taken, and I was not one to shy away from a quest.

I entered town tired, sticky and flush with high expectations. I mean, hell, a place with the reputation of such scum and sulk sets the bar pretty high you know? I fully expected and was fully prepared to sip martini’s with pimps, partake in the primitive barbarism of self mutilation, and have the budding breasts of young, perky adolescents barrage me from all sides.

Walking out of that experience, I can say that with the exception of the aforementioned pimps and cocktails (perfect gentlemen all of them, but there are rules of conduct when interacting with the public, and I for one would never argue with the bylaws of a union,) my expectations were met quite well.

Desperation people. It’s the word of the day and without it, Vegas would be a pimple on an outdated road map sitting in some gas station out in that bloodthirsty desert. To look into the eyes of any patron of the strip, is to see a level of darkness and depravity never thought possible. Deep breaths taking in air filled with sweat, smoke, and overcooked chicken. Eyes glazed over, never leaving the comfort of the machine. Three eyes, one arm, and no potential of anything more than empty cups, watered-down drinks, and wallets. It would all be handed over by nights end, without so much as a raised fist. Umbilical tethers link these poor fools to their slots these days. Vegas has gone digital people. The modern gambler no longer wanders into his favorite haunt with pockets loaded with change. No sir, one can move all that money onto a card, graciously given away by the establishment, to rid you of that wanton feeling of your pockets becoming progressively lighter. There is zero need to ever leave the reel twister you’ve bonded with.

At the tables, the desperation has it’s own reflection. Wearing a very stylish red vest and a similar glazed-over look, the dealers were far from the chirpy and polite thespians of finance I had expected. No, they all had a look to them. A look that almost warned anyone at the table to walk away, go back to their hotels, and read a book. I swear I saw one of them mouth the words “I used to be you once. And tomorrow, I’ll probably be you again,” to an overenthusiastic socialite. I suppose when you’ve seen the weak hope of making it big broken so many times, you get kind of numb to it.

Decent folks surrounded me. Dressed in their interpretations of their finest duds, I met a mall food court’s worth of social diversity. Vegas knows no prejudice. Be it hick, hippie, yuppie, skank, tourist, parent, gang-banger or stockbroker. Young and old alike. They all congregate together, strangers sharing elevators and swapping war stories of lost rent and pawned watches. The loser’s language is one everyone speaks. And make no delusions about it, losing is where the fun is. If you drop the coin, you’ve lost. Some subscribe to a higher power and fight the temptations of nice cars and extra dimes in their pocket. They pursue stiff drink, tender females, and overpriced crap. Doesn’t matter a bit if betting odds or ogling flesh drive your ticket. Vegas always wins.

I would wander the strip late, waiting to see casualties. Those broken and beaten souls who gave it their all, and lost. The unfortunate who started with a car, a hotel, and a bank account, and will be spending tomorrow scouring the local help wanted ads. To my shock, I never saw it happen. Not once. No broken men or women with head in hands sobbing uncontrollably. No drunk, inconsolable souls screaming into the night about how they threw it all away. All night I saw the same sort of peppy folks wandering the streets. Young girls decked in long high heels that were making their feet ache. The mothers of those young girls a few blocks down packed into tight dresses that made their cleavage look like a bomb shelter, drinking large and looking for some lonely chap to bed down with. Happy male bonding rituals of sharp attire, several drinks, and the tender notion that they are indeed “high rollers.” Rock bottom didn’t exist here. You could never hit the floor, just dig yourself in deeper.

And did Vegas break me? Assuredly. Not at the tables though, I am not one who buys into the notion of becoming successful on the principles of divine intervention. What’s life without work after all? Still, I find myself a little more unsettled as I return to my nest. It’s a strange and weird place, as I doubt anyone would argue. And a dreaming sort like myself has no business being there. So I return to my nest. A little blacker for the experience. Lust and intrigue fill my mind a bit more than they used to. The possibility of hitting the jackpot passes through the brain as a possibility. It’s slowly eating away at my ambition and common sense. But, here in the security of my little home-built womb, I suppose that will pass with time. Sickly cravings tend to fuzz out when they lack in sensory fuel. And I imagine the bearings of sanity will find their way back home soon enough

And in the end, this will not be my last trip to Vegas. This kind of thing cannot be discarded like a trip to the world’s largest ball of twine, after all. It takes more than one sitting to digest a meal like this, and the willing stomach of iron and fearlessness. Darkness and weakness like this are uncommon in the world, and to find it all in once place is intriguing to say the least. It’s altogether possible, that I may one day find myself being maternally fed by one of those godforsaken machines. Who knows?

Until we meet again Vegas.