I love its hooker culture and poseur mentality. You can literally go to Vegas and disappear...lose your identity, assume somebody else. It is a city of sin, a city of debauchery. No judging. Just commonality.
It is a belly button ring...a tramp stamp. Adult fun, topless pools and money just given away to slots, craps and poker. It is uniquely shallow and superficial.
But Vegas is something else altogether...it is our id...our super ego.
It pulls from us our fragility, our delicate concerns. We over emote, trying hard to be in the crowd. We can see NYC, Paris, the pyramids...we can consider ourselves travelers...well-traveled.
But there are parts...poolside, dance floors, well-lit bars...steakhouses with James Beard-awarded chefs...silken sheets, first row seats...there are a myriad of places where I could be just one degree happier if you were there. If you accompanied.
Yes, despite all the tawdry and unfit descriptions, there is still a vibe. A pulse. An energy.
It is not for everybody, but everybody seeks it. Ride the lightning, catch it in a bottle.
Vegas is a whore...plain and simple, and it takes your money and leaves you in the morning.
But the best revenge for somebody trying to get your attention and try to make you feel like she's the prettiest...is to bring somebody classier and way prettier than she will ever be...lights out or not.
So I'd enjoy the playground with you...I'd enjoy the dazzling sunlight and dark brown mountains...the neon and the flow, I'd love the loss of time and the sound of casinos...I'd crave the sheets and the large upgraded rooms with obnoxious showers where we could luxuriate and wear robes and never leave the room.
I'd do Vegas with you, but only because as much as the city believes it is beautiful your reluctance to find yourself outstandingly gorgeous only makes you that much more so.
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