A Melon Screams Briskly in a Friendly Las Vegas

“Fourteen. Fuck! Do I stand, hit, split, double down?”

<>Back home he would have known what to do. There the scale was easier to read.

Here a global artifice is crammed into four square miles. You’d think that would make the whole thing comprehendible. But you’d be wrong. Bookended by shrines to terrorist culture and centered around celebrations of old-European treachery, this whole place stinks. But the drinks are free. And he needs as many free drinks as he can get.

Unwinding. Whoopin it up. Cuttin loose. As long as he avoids actual decadence everything will be okay.

<>“Sherry’s sweet, you know. She’s great with the kids, a great cook. But sometimes you just have to look the devil in the face.” The dealer deals himself a nine - fifteen showing and flashes an automatonic smile. “Sherry’s one of those…..yeah I’ll have another Jack and Coke. Thanks, Hon. You know what I mean, don’t you?” Four, seven, jack and a two for the dealer.

“Business is a little slow, but the networking’s been good. You remember Steve Pardee from Tuscaloosa? Yeah, the guy who sells the Christian garden tools. His booth is hoppin’ and he’s sending people my way. We’re meeting up tonight for dinner. He’s expanding his catalog. I think I can talk him into a consignment. Okay. I know it’s time for the kids to get to bed. Kiss ‘em for me. I love you, too. Good night.”

<>“Sir, you’ll have to leave now. If you don’t leave now security will have to remove you.”

“Get the hell away from me.”

<>“Okay, buddy. Here we go. You can make this easy or hard. Which will it be?”

“Can I take my drink?”

“No, but you better get your jacket. It’s pouring outside.”

<>Too drunk to be embarrassed. The flashflood baptism rolled over him. “Jesus!!” the melon screams briskly in a friendly Las Vegas.