We flew back and forth all over the country last week in an endless flight to Las Vegas. At one point I was convinced that I had died before getting on the plane and that this was my purgatory- to forever fly on Southwest Airlines with their eerily cheerful crew forever and forever.
But all good things come to an end and we eventually landed in Vegas.
Coming into the city from the desert seeing its bright, shiny, billion watt grandeur is amazing. But ya know what? I just don’t get the whole Vegas thing. Except for the endless free cocktails, (Yes’m on the free alcohol), I’m at a loss why anyone would want to sit in a smoky casino wasting money all day and all night long.
I did my best to fit in, drinking and pulling the slot machine handle, watching the thingys roll around, wondering when and if I would win something and people watching.
The Vegas vampires are pale, shaky, scary creatures seeking forgotten sleep and don’t even get me started on the Lounge Lizards. Where do these people come from?
So I pulled and I drank and I thought.
Vegas has drinking, gambling, shows, and great food. Basically, oversimplistically (made up word).
The restaurant across the street from us at home has plenty of beer and cocktails, football and NASCAR pools, drunk fucks doing stupid shit, and some of the best pizza south of the Mason-Dixon line.
So why did we leave?
I’m a Homer. I know. It’s the salt air.