Monday, June 23, 2008

Vegas is Right.


The desert sun ain't so bad when you sleep through most of it. Night time is the right time to bypass the hipsters and feauxlitists, making way to the joints that don't care who you are and never will. The best times are had where the crust is anything but upper, in the dank and painted walls of drinking establishments that still let you soak your clothes with smoke and the booze that goes with it. Later still it's not hard to find oneself where the skin is plentiful and the clothes are few, attention garnered proportionate to reproductions of Andrew Jackson. With a brain swimming in the remnant bliss of intoxication by both imbibement and experience, a peek outside shows the faintest glimpse of dawn's sparkle edging just so over the horizon. That's the sign to find your way back before the degrees start climbing to match your Blackjack win, in hopes of a deep sleep and dreams of what the next evening will have in store.

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