I woke up early for my idiotically early flight, then headed to the Harrahs coffee shop for breakfast. I was seated directly next to a pair of late 20s women who had obviously just come to the breakfast end of an all night session in the casino. One dear child was chattering on a little monologue that went something like this:
“Well, like, it really doesn’t, like’ it’s not that kind of thing. Like, really, like he’s nice, but, like, I’m not, like sure I want to get, like, involved, with like, another guy, like right now. Like Tom, you know Tom, right? Like, he was great, like I met him, like when he was living with Lisa, like, but he was, like finished, like they lived, like, together, like but there wasn’t like, anything, like, there, anymore. I, like hooked up with him, like three or four times, like, when he was still living with her. Like, well, like we had sex, and like it was, like a really good thing, like, but it wasn’t like, vulgar or anything, like, because they were only, like living together, and I wasn’t like some, like brainless babe, like I was 21….”
Vegas can leave you with sometimes with some lasting memories. I fear the memory of that monologue will stay with me like the feeling of a root canal for far too long.
In the end I was of, a couple thousand richer and my luggage well stocked with items to keep us all going in Ecuador. My wife and I will probably come together at the start of July for another stay, although sadly the poker will probably take a back seat next time. But I’m sure Seymour will still find some way to make the adventures memorable.
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