Vegas baby

Parked

I spent the last seven weeks driving in North America, the flimsy excuse being “there are two writers’ conferences I want to attend out west a month apart.” After 7600 miles, 19 state borders, three Canadian provinces and more stops than I can hack onto a google map, I arrived in Las Vegas. And during the 130+ hours of wheel time I figured some things out, made some decisions that were confirmed as soon as I opened my car door.

That I’d be staying here for a while.

Though I’ve only been here a few days, in ways it already reminds me of Bangkok, another city with a reputation that isn’t close to the full story. There’s an energy, a need to keep your eyes open and see everything. And there’s a side that only the locals see.

I want to see.

So after checkout from my near-strip hotel, I slid a mile over into a rental that reminds me of the place I had in Krung Thep. There’s even a Seven close-by, though it can’t compete with this:

I can still remember how delicious you are. Nothing comes close here.

I can still remember how delicious you are. Nothing comes close here.