Vegas, in short

"Las Vegas: All the amenities of modern society in a habitat unfit to grow a tomato."

-Jason Love

Controlled chaos. People of all walks of life. Every flavor of human emotion. They're here and they're there and they're everywhere. Nonstop, 24/7. The dealers look tired and pale and overworked. Some are sympathetic, others make mistakes, but most are stone-faced and stoic and never utter a sound. I went up to one who didn't like me. I was a neophyte; I have never gambled at a table in my whole life. I handed him the money...two times. He just stared at me with irritated eyes. I could see the vexation behind them. He looked at me. He looked down at the table. He didn't explain nothin'.  It's very serious down there. Don't wanna bring the wrath of the Pit Boss with the comb over and ears that look like shredded cold cuts. They're always wandering, those Pit Bosses. Always wandering. 

The shopkeepers in the Gucci and Marc Jacobs and Louis Vuitton and Chanel and Prada and Bvlgari shops sit and look at their phones. No one ever shops in them stores. They don't gotta be on red alert. Except for the guy in the OMEGA store. Middle aged and in a tight navy blue Giorgio Armani suit, this guy was on his feet, walkin' to and fro, waiting for a customer to arrive. No one ever did of course, but he woulda been ready for them.

The hotel people stand by the elevators all day long makin' sure that you got a key. They don't check for them though. They just stand there and nod whenever somebody passes by. And the housekeepers and cleaners and window wipers and maintenance people and the casino waitresses are always in the background, likely making less than minimum wage, constantly picking up trash, cleaning up puke, vacuuming the carpets, wiping down the store windows, polishing the stone floors, changing out the ashtrays, disinfecting the slots, picking up empty bottles, and holding the fabric of reality together. Without them the whole place would collapse in on itself, would descend into pandemonium. 

The temperatures this July were between 110 and 118 degrees fahrenheit. But that don't stop the people on the street. There's always people on the street. On the strip I saw a child rappin' near a CVS pharmacy. He must have been around 6 years old. "Chicken wings, chicken-chicken-chicken wings! I like chicken wings, chicken, chicken, chicken wings!" He was huffin' and puffin' and his father or guardian or whoever was standing behind him with a sign. I couldn't see what it said.

And then you have the women dressed as tropical birds, wearin' nothing  but feathers and you see the men dressed as cowboys wearin' nothin' but a speedo and a cowboy hat. And they're all in very good shape and they all want to take a picture with you and they all want $20. And then you have the impersonators and the dancers and the people dressed in the greasy Elmo costumes and what have you, and you see the people who're handin' out flyers and tokens and cards and the guys with the huge billboards on their backs handin' out flyers to see the real bodies at Bally's and the dudes in the orange shirts passin' out pictures of naked women.

"Free entry into OMNIA Night Club! Free entry into OMNIA Night Club! Sir, sir! C'mon! Take one! Free entry into OMNIA Night Club!" And people actually take the tickets...whether or not they believe that these tickets will really get them into the OMNIA Night Club in Caesars Palace. Who cares if they're fake or not? There are so many other things to do!

See a show. Lose a lot of money. Get super drunk. Dance until it's sunny. But you never know when it's sunny until you go outside and see for yourself. There ain't no clocks in them casinos. Day or night, 8 in the mornin' or 2 at night—it always looks the same. People are walkin' and jammin up the passageways. They walk in groups or alone or with little kids who are either crying or sleeping or experiencing sensory overload from the beeping machines and the screeching jackpots and the cigarette smoke and that ever present, intoxicating, weird chlorine smell. Day or night, night or day, mid-morning, early afternoon: it always looks the same inside them casinos. Always.

There's the best of the best and the worst of the worst. The food is always immaculate; the shows always spectacular. You stand on the escalator that's makin' its way down to the Flamingo, and you gaze out upon the whole scene and you wonder just how many talented people are within your general vicinity and what they're up to and how many people are winning and winning and winning. And at the same time you stand and wonder about all the crumby stuff that's going on, all the weird stuff that's going on, all the shady stuff that's going on, and all of the people that are losing and losing and losing. My God, there's a lot of losing. Maybe it's because gamblin' is a sin in His eyes. Or maybe it's just plain probability. But my oh man oh my—so many losers. I would know. I lost $398. 

I came back broke but stoked. You don't go to Vegas to gamble. You don't go to Vegas to party. You don't go to Vegas to eat good food, buy silly knick-knacks, see the most amazing acrobatics of your life or get royally ripped off everywhere you go. You go to Vegas to see the people. To sit back, relax, and observe humanity in its most purest form. 

You go to see the hobo coolin' off in the fountain on the corner of W Flamingo Rd and S Las Vegas Blvd. You go to see the woman who skirts around in a scooter meant for old people nearly pass out from screaming after she won $50 on the Willy Wonka slot after losing $400. You go to see the  6'7'' dude with the old timey barber shop mustache and the marijuana hat and floral jumper walkin' around, higher than a kite on the Burj Khalifa, trying to figure out how to open a door. You go to see the guy with gnarled hands playin' at the crapless craps table give away a $100 chip to a complete stranger and then miraculously win $13,000. You go to see the depressed person of unidentifiable sex sitting alone at the bar with three empty glasses standin' next to them on the counter. You go to see the guy in the elevator who's trying to put on shorts and a button up shirt and lace his shoes and it's 8:00am and he's hungover and tired and probably had a wild, wild night and he's definitely gonna be late to wherever he needs to be. 

That's what we saw. That's why you go to Vegas. That's what it's all about.