I feel like Las Vegas shouldn’t show up on this blog because it makes me think of fake and shiny and in your face not because it’s important but because it cost a lot of money and it’s loud! But I am bringing it here to remind myself that you can’t judge a book by its cover or a flashing oasis in the desert by its reputation. In some odd jumble of events I fell into the heart of this place I’d never have chosen to fly away to on my own and got lodged somewhere between my own head and the hands of a million different dancing, drinking people. Maybe it takes feeling alone in a crowd to make you notice yourself. Maybe it takes feeling very, very small to feel very big inside yourself. Maybe that is what happened. You get swept up to the 64th floor of the building and watch the lights spin out around you down the strip and into who knows what else is in that city…you feel tiny and mighty all at once. You remember there is only so much liquid your body can hold before it reaches your eyes and makes you see double. Is that vulnerability or stupidity? And your body is at the mercy of the nightclubs because even lying in your bed, the top 50 are beating up and down the massive skeleton of these hotels and vibrating all your cells so that you never get to leave the party. When you’re getting out of there and subsisting on the sick air of a pressurized cabin you think the dry, shallow heat of the desert is not so empty.


{Kuntsrule stories are written by our readers. Share your own at Kuntsrule Submission.}

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