I like Vegas because it does not apologize. She blatantly rubs your money in your face. The money that we earned at our routine jobs. The money that we earned selling cars and knives and insurance policies and pictures of sexy girls. They accept your money and, in exchange, sell you a dream. A dream that you will beat the system. That you are special. That the gods want to reward your courage. Dream in one hand, shit in the other. The dream store is always open. Only have a nickel? They have a dream for you. Friends, I have learned my lesson. I go to Vegas now and I only enjoy the wallpaper. The dream store has very pretty wallpaper. Sometimes pretty enough to serve as a backdrop for a woman like Murphy Ott.

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