So I hit 30 in Vegas on Saturday in some style.
I’d read an article about Vegas headlined: ‘When a big fight comes to town, Las Vegas, with its bookies, hookers, and hustlers, is in its element.’
That has certainly been proved true – this weekend saw pretty much the biggest boxing match ever – Floyd Mayweather v Oscar de la Hoya. Black America vs Hispanic America.
And Las Vegas hit the heights, taking us along with it.
It’s actually quite difficult to describe the scale of Vegas – the limos, the hotels, the prices and the people are the biggest in the world.
And my friends and me have pretty much seen it all over the past few days. We had a local born ‘chaperone’ who helped us uncover the shadier corners and see the real Vegas – he came highly recommended and didn’t disappoint as one of the sleaziest people I’ve ever come across. But hey, he knew his way around.
But I can’t say his magical mystery tour was all that pretty.
In ‘the real Vegas’ it actually seemed difficult to meet a girl who wasn’t a hooker or a guy who didn’t play some role in the supply of drugs. They all party all day and all night. And they can all get you whatever you want. They all survive and prosper on helping visitors to Vegas get their kicks. And they all have the same hardened humour – the same air of desperation. Even though they all have cash, and a lot of it, it is cash drenched in the filth of Vegas.
It is hard to ignore the feeling that Vegas is essentially America’s last chance saloon. Its where people ‘end up’. Officially the suicide capital of America, it is a veritable drain of humanity.
And that played on my mind too much to really enjoy it - humanity shouldn't have a drain - it should have a skylight.
Which, while we had some wild times, saw some great sights and experienced some awesome nightlife, infuses the whole experience with a feeling exploitation.
You feel bad for everyone there – all the time.
But most of all, I feel bad for the people there now I am back in London.
Which is making the comedown somewhat more emotional than usual.
To think that some of the people I met there – hustlers, who were genuinely cool and fun, are still there – probably forever – is depressing. Party town it maybe. Home it should never be.
But while meeting the locals, I detected an inescapable feeling. And it was only on my way home I decided what it was - camaraderie. They stick together to survive and piece together the closest thing they can get to happiness. There’s no sense of family so they create their own.
At the end of it all – this, my last bender – I discovered one really life-affirming thing. Las Vegas has a heart.
I wish everyone their a lot of luck and a bit of love.
I hope they get out alive.
Writing time: zero
Manifestation: 0%
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1 comment:
Sorry...I didn't realize that you had come and gone to Vegas already when I commented on your previous post! Yes, Vegas is really sad, isn't it? I was last there a couple of years ago to interview a poker player and I really did not enjoy it as much as I did for my 21st birthday. Everything is so artificial and the environment is stifling, incredibly uninspiring. I joke about it being some kind of purgatory...or even hell. Even more sad, as you pointed out, many many people end up in these places and it is tragic. But, as a writer, I often believe that exposure to such is important...it keeps us grounded in humanity.
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