More Vegas Thoughts... The Reneck Riviera
I've been covering the WSOP for a week straight without any days off. The schedule is brutal and the work load is like getting kicked in the junk every few hours. At least I have my apartment complex to keep my mind off of poker during what little time I have away from the Rio.
I've lived in some sketchy areas in my life. My flat in Las Vegas certainly is not the worst place where I've shacked up, but I really have to be alert when I'm walking around at odd hours. I'm afraid that I might shanked by a shirtless tweaker on my way to the am/pm to buy a Gatorade.
I decided that I want to get to know the miscreants that live in my building unit. After all, they are people too. They are simply misguided souls, which directly stems from unhappy childhoods. Besides, you never know when you might have the urge to score some Oxycontin. I hear that Julio upstairs gets the best shit, at least that's what I overheard last night.
The Redneck Riviera is broken down in 12 buildings. The architects designate letters to differentiate each unit. I live in building "F" and yes, F is for freaks. The family two doors down leaves their door wide open. Usually six kids dressed only in their underwear are arguing and wrestling each over videogames, while their Mom chain smokes a pack of Reds and pisses away her alimony checks at the Monte Carlo's slot machines. I call room 1071 "Michael Jackson's wet dream."
I forgot to tell you about all the random animals that people let roam around outside... dogs, cats, and even small sun-burnt children running around without shoes. I'd like to take pictures of this insanity, but I'd make myself a target. I'm afraid I'd never wake up and the local authorities will find my throat slashed with my iPod and WSOP press badge traded for a hand job behind Wendy's by one of the many skeevy crack whores that work Tropicana Road after midnight.