Las Vegas

The carpets. Oh my god. I look around Circus Circus, afraid to find myself alone in this sea of slots zombies.

Their eyes remain fixed flaccidly upon the glowing screens in front of them, maintaining a continuous connection to the machine.

I see Clay, dangling from an escalator, attempting to rail slide by the stairs while still holding the black snake of the escalator hand rest. His shoe catches and he eats shit.

“Nobody’ll bring me a drink.”

“That’s because you have to be playing.”

“I was playing.”

“Did you ask for one?”

“Yeah. They all said no.”

They hate me, obviously not playing, not tipping. I step out of the casino, rejected.

The street is littered with leaflets for girls; I am handed one by an old woman on the street. I inspect the picture carefully, appraising the large tits and bald pussy. 30 dollars, 35 for the girl on the back. I wonder what the five dollar difference is.

As the light turns green, my fingers surrender the glossy card to the soles of night traffic and I walk with the others, seeking out my lucky casino.

I pass a girl about my age with fake blonde hair and a fake fur coat. Her brown legs are long and lean, anchored between white stilettos and a tightly wrapped ass. She looks up at the man talking to her from his dinner table; he is in his 30s and with three other men. She looks down, glancing at me, deliberating, and we make brief eye contact. I think her face looks scared but its probably just me.

“Hey,” says one of my new friends, a couple of kids from Chico. “Check it out.” We are in front of a huge, white, tri terraced fountain at the entrance of a closed shopping mall. The water sounds soothing, even its artificial fountain tinkle a welcome change from the sound of the slots. Strange but comforting, how water is the same but different everywhere. One of the two kids, the boy, climbs up onto the giant, muscular Greek statue lording over the water and splashes water onto us from the top terrace of the fountain.

“In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, right? Is that what you say? Fuck it youre all baptized,” He says before climbing down. I look down at the water, seeing copper pennies and nickels twinkling on the tile floor.

Refocusing on the surface of the water, I am met with my own reflection. For a second I look old, very old, then that face is gone and I see my own again, undulating silently on top the pennies.

******************************

The next morning I wake fully clothed, surprised to find myself in our hotel room. Luke is already awake.

“Where’d that girl go?”

“What girl? You brought a girl back here?”

“No, it wasn’t like that, I don’t even know how I met her. I thought you and Clay brought her back until I realized she was here before you guys got back here.”

“Shit Luke, you let some girl smoke in our room and I didn't even get to yell at you,” I say, picking up a bottle cap with two cigarette butts in it.

“Yeah, she was saying something about her boyfriend trashing all her stuff and stealing her car. I think she just needed to use a phone. I told her she could crash here but I guess she took off.

“Wow, I don't remember that.”

“Yeah, you fell asleep as soon as you got back. Hey, where’d all your chips go?”

“What chips?” Suddenly I remembered the end of the evening, me surrendering ten dollars, fed up with waiting for my free drink, even if it was actually a ten dollar drink, I took my chances and headed to the baccarat table. Baccarat, I learned, is really easy. And before I had even placed my first bet, the cocktail waitress came over.

My stack of chips grew as the drinks keep coming faster than I can drink them. They change dealers three times, me hunched protectively over my stack of red plastic.

After an hour or so Luke nudges me. “Uh, we gotta go,” he says, a security guard on either side of him.

“No way! I’m winning so big!”

“Yeah but Clay just pissed on a wall.”

“Outside or in?”

“Out.”

“So whats the problem?” The three of us have been backpacking across the desert for the past month, and the use of proper toilet facilities is still somewhat new.

“Uhhh…”Luke looks at the security guards again.

“Ok ok, hold on.” Standing is a little tricky, the cocktail waitress is on her way over with my latest whisky sour, and all of a sudden its all too much for me. The lights, colors and sounds of the casino have all penetrated my body, making me feel unbelievably sick.

Or, maybe it was just all the booze.

“Hold on, I'll be right back,” I tell Luke, lurching off his arm. I stumble towards what I hope is the bathroom, clutching as many chips as I can in my fists.

“Wait, Mei, gimme your chips!”

“No way Luke! These are my babies!”

“Is she going to be alright?” I hear one of the security guards say as I stumble off.

“Oh, Luke, they're gone,” I say, looking through my stuff.

“Check your pockets.”

“I think theyre gone Mei, do you remember the roulette table?” Clay asks me.

“Oh. Yes," I lie.

“How did you guys stay longer than me when they were trying to kick Clay out?”

Clay and I shrug. The answer to that has been lost to the night.

“Does anyone have any money for breakfast?”

“I don’t think so. I bought a lot of drinks last night.” I open my wallet, revealing a dingy, tattered $100 bill.

“Hey, I did cash out!” I say pulling out the bill. “Check it out, I WON!” Turning the bill over and over, I wonder if baccarat is always that easy. I smell it. It smells dirty and appealing. We wander downstairs, and I want to gamble. I want more easy money.

I see a woman with a carpet cleaner and want to suggest baccarat to her. Luke and Clay head towards the lobby, but the sounds of the slots are louder, friendlier now. They are calling me towards to tables. It is only ten, not many players yet. They look fresh to me, the neon not as glaring in the daylight, some hidden promise now revealed.

“Don’t try it girl we’re going to the pool!”

Looking over my shoulder as I exit, the comparatively fresh air of car exhaust hits me like a cold shower. I breathe deep, inhaling sunlight and squinting my eyes, the outside world much too bright. I realize I should not gamble today.

I walk across the paking lot wondering where the mystery girl is this morning, if she’s made up with her asshole boyfriend, if she’s called her mom, if she’s with friends, or if she’s still out roaming the strip.

These thoughts float by like clouds; everything is fake to me except the sunshine and the $100 bill in my pocket. I close my eyes and accept it all because I am too hung over on whiskey, and too drunk on a tiny piece of paper to be anything but poolside, in Vegas.