Gangsters to Queens: A Walk Through Vegas

As I made my daily treck, through the overemphisised scenery of the Las Vegas strip. I pondered as I had before, as to what I traveled towards. "I'm chasing life." I'd say "Looking for stability." Then, just as tangable as my collision with the man passing me, an unnerving bump of reality. Where would I find this "stability"? In the job I was headed to? One of the hundreds of people meandering on the same street as I? Had I just awoken to "life"? I shuddered at the thought, but pushed on.

Once you pass the strip, arriving at the Mandalay Bay Road overpass, the mountains to the west come into full view. With their broad shoulders and placid gaze, they seem a gaurdian. But I believe they are there to sheild the rest of the world. I use their tranquility to calm and focus myself, as I would soon arive. Like most day labor places the inside of the office is bland. The only things on the walls are the employee rights posters. The only furniture, a few plastic chairs. I sign in and wait in the front. The 15 passenger van that shuttles us is never on time. But I get paid the same, so I wait, and smoke. My co-workers have nothing to offer in conversation. Most either don't or won't speek english, and those that do seem dilussioned with schemes of grandure. My phone rings but I don't answer. It's my roommate Chad. I assume he's just going to ask for money I don't have. To buy crank I don't do. The van arrives and we pile in. Nineteen of us, including the driver. I soon fall asleep in the back. It's the only way I can cope with the heat and crowd.