Sin City

We never had fireworks growing up. That’s like burning your money, he would say.

Gambling is even worse. You don’t even get to see the fire as your money disappears.

He’s happy with his life of modesty. Always has been.

This city is flashy and dazzling. Unlike him.

The allure of winning so much while spending so little is unmoving.

He hates crowds and people aren’t far behind.

He doesn’t smoke and wouldn’t take a free cocktail if you paid him.

He’s not into “Asian massage” and has never had much desire to see the real Eiffel Tower. Much less a look-alike.

Entertainment has never juggled bowling balls.

Or made a tiger disappear.

Or balanced a wheel barrow on its head.

And it never takes place on concrete.

Or indoors. Or anywhere near neon.

I’d always wondered why we never vacationed here while I was growing up.

Now I know. Because my dad never took us.


(I wrote this after my first visit to Las Vegas in 2002)