So there I am hiding in my 9th floor room in the Riveria, scared to venture out into the carnivorous city. I was lucky I got to my room after sprinting from the airport to the shuttle bus through blistering 90 degree heat, getting the full stupid tourist treatment along the way, flung myself out of the shuttle and into the ice cold lobby, traded the receptionist an awful "I'm new to this crap" look for a room key, bright red backpack half falling off, my alpaca Bolivian satchel (or purse if you're just itching to say it) draped over my neck, scampering through the maze of bright flashing slot machines all blinking and screaming robotic seductions. Lost. I turned around almost knocking out a butler looking dude with a tray of drinks, the haggard man sitting at a slot near by looked up from his zombie-like trance beer in one hand and the lever to his sad existence in the other, the cigarette dangling from his mouth wiggled its long ash off onto his lap, I darted past the 7 old ladies with perfect permed hair lined up one after another at the penny slots, they appeared to be asleep but who knows, then i came around an island of machines to find a field of card tables with either angry looking chinese dudes or big breasted vixens running the dealer seats. The over used A/C, cigarette smoke and extra oxygen (they actually pump it inside the casino to make you feel calm and comfortable) were just about to make me lay down on the middle of the roulette table just as the last chorus of The Police's Roxanne sang out as I just made it into the glitter encrusted elevator, and barged into my room. Peering out the window on the mess of fake lights I tried to gather up the courage and brave the streets. Out I went. Full bore down the strip! Drunk on the electricity, dusk cast its orange glow upon the mammoth buildings, techno infused pop songs boomed like God's speakers over the whole Strip. I was instantly in a sea of strange people, shoulder to shoulder, most had farmer tans and American flag tanktops. Make-up laden wannabe women in pink pushup bras and rickety highheels awkwardly danced to the ever present music, asian families covered in whitening cream confused, capturing everything on film; Disney characters drunk in street corners mumbling shakespeare with bottles of rum rolling away, the children gripped their mothers at such a sight. The spiked hair frat boys gang down the street, tall bright colored margaritas leading their dreams away while the lights still twisted and the smoked still rolled on, and the cars beeped by, and the money still dripped on walls like bad acid trips from Uncle Sam's nightmares. We're all caught in this cancerous crab trap, thinking we're heros sucking down sugar lies and nobody hears the Mother crying in the cocaine penthouse locked away forever.
But even amongst all this fuckery and lost souls there is still hope for human kind. I saw it on the shuttle ride into the city. The neon buildings flashed excitiment into the van, the huge metal monsters colorful like insane legos surrounded the Strip, enclosing its blinking huge everything on anything below. Everyone was in awe, jaw dropped at the magnitude of our modern absurdity, and then in the back of the van a little boy excitedly said "mommy mommy, look......the moon"
