I’m in the Las Vegas airport.
It’s a lot like the rest of Las Vegas. I’m hearing a constant, numbing jingle of electronic casino sounds, which have apparently replaced any coin-clanking sounds of years gone by. And, because the universe knows I love comedy, Kenny Rogers is singing “The Gambler” over the PA system. There’s a great deal of cigarette scent in the air.
I came here for a conference. And my brain is very full of information and experiences, but mostly I think it was great. I spent time with friends I love, and met some wonderful people. I learned things. I feel encouraged to be productive in my writing.
I’m revising a book that’s due next week. I’m making sure I remember to put setting in it (not always on my radar, to be honest). I’m early to the airport and I have a lot of space to myself. I took off my shoes and my feet are up on my suitcase and I’m working uninterrupted (so of course I’m writing this instead of working on my manuscript).
Here’s what I think: The Vegas strip is gross. There’s so much crass commercialism (Fendi, Prada, Gucci, Cartier stores we passed every day, yikes), and the gaming system is set to abuse people who behave in fear and ignorance. My hair reeks of cigar smoke because you can’t get anywhere without walking through a casino. And the airport seems to be a low-rent version of the same. Ewww.
I’m ready to go home and wash all of this off my skin. But for this moment, I’m happy to have a little space to myself and a charged computer.