On a recent trip to Las Vegas Nevada, observations jumped out and begged for written attention. Sometimes though, you are compelled to pet the runt of the litter, something a little less overt.
Being surrounded by opulence and false bravado is like riding the Tilt o' Whirl, the smear of color and sound sharpen one's focus on pivot points and the big bolts near the heart of the contraption. Eyeballing the low center of gravity needed to hold it's mooring with it's arbiters In human form, moving with purpose and dedication like ticks moving slowly to the host's softer portions. I was waiting for the second race of the Breeder's Cup at Santa Anita to get under way in the belly of the Palms Hotel, I checked my phone and realized two conflicting thoughts. One, it's sixteen minutes to post and two, it's way too early to have a beer. The betting room is standing room only and I immediately cave in to my inner flight response and shuffle outside to shed some crowd-induced claustrophobia, not being a smoker you are faced with a funny feeling, standing still. People going hurriedly in or dragging painfully out looking like the recently exhumed while clutching their free promotional red hats. What an incredible mark, I think to me self. Long gone are the days of chalking your whales on the back, nowadays they simply set up a table and we stand in line for half an hour to wear our sucker status proud as a peacock through the casino for all to see. The barkers have grown up and peer down through the smoky black spider eyes in the ceiling. After losing twenty two dollars in the first race, and I am still somehow having myself a good time here, and bravo! to our hotel for such a delicate robbery, it reminds me of the vampire bats feeding off of horses with pain killer spit to get the job done stealthily. Splendid! Fully satisfied that I am being ripped off by the best in the business (excluding the government) I turn to head back in for more abuse, but not before noticing another person standing in the sun and seeming as equally still and indifferent as myself. A bum. A person of the lower leisure class with the perfect demeanor to slide right in, nearly unnoticed. Thinking nothing of it, I went back in myself and found a nice place to watch the race, a wall with a flat granite top to rest my elbows and racing form, someplace solid to hole up for the storm, to pray on my five dollars to win, to root for magic forces and hopefully not be tapped out before lunch. Having an eye for the unusual, I noticed a round white table with an untouched glass of dark soda filled with ice with at least 5 minutes of condensation making a small pond at its base, sitting there full to the brim and lonesome with two newspapers and a racing guide all huddled together, abandoned and equally as unattended as the two half pulled out chairs. This was a scene in itself because all the seats were taken leaving the latecomers like myself to stand against the walls and edges close enough to see the screens to the left of collage football and directly under a giant blonde with huge tits showing how to shake a martini. She was muted thank god, but distracting for sure. By the time I got my eyes back to the dark soda table to consider the open seat, to my surprise now sat the guy from outside, the bum from off the street and what perfect timing it was. He now held the once lonely soda like a proud papa looking intensely at his inherited racing digest sitting confidently with such an Oscar worthy performance I had to be amused. So good in fact was his portrait of a thirsty gambler that I thought for a second that I was mistaken and this was indeed his seat, his dark soda and by obvious extension, his important papers. The tell? His eyes darted left and then right, the hallmark of vaudevillian criminals everywhere. He lacked a pencil thin mustache to twist, but his cover was totally blown by those coyote eyes, however, he received no notice from the staff and was given the moment savor his victory. I was full of petty envy over the seat and table and was struck with the Marx brothers grace and fluidity that put him there before any of us and tipped my mental hat his way, "well played sir." My race had nearly gotten off to a start without me, so with a rush or rookie gamblers adrenaline I focused my attention on the smaller screen under the giant martini shaking tits and watched my chosen pony swing wide and lose all hope in the back stretch. Bam! Just like that, another five bucks down the tubes, the grand total of twenty seven dollars lost before lunch, these figures added themselves up in my head auto-poetically and most quickly triangulated the time of day with the bleak contrast of future destitution. "So this is what Kenny Rogers was talking about" but I still wasn't sure how to proceed. I know! I need a beer, the cure all, hey it's Vegas I tell myself, I can have a beer in the a.m. if I damn well want one and upon this epiphany I noticed the empty table. He was gone and so was at least one of the papers, but most importantly the dark soda full of ice was gone too. He was out there some where, a winner with a free soda and a fresh newspaper. The only non fool on the floor. Between races, the other losers and me pour out into the place going different directions. I was stuck on the soda. The lost and lonely dark soda full of ice found love and attention in the form of a streetwise antihero, a bum flying under the radar, sliding right in here and going up against the best in the business, getting the only empty seats and leaving the scene unscathed and refreshed.
In my own style I flagged down a waitress for a cold green Heineken, leaving her something close to a tip and taking time to register her absolutely blank expression. With a certain amount of resignation, I began making my way sheepishly to the back of the long line to get what I had earned. A free red hat from the Palms hotel to wear like a peacock, walking around in Las Vegas, Nevada.
(((B.E.B.))))
