Some Vegas Stuff
I woke up yesterday to the sounds of things breaking. My wake up call this morning was a "domestic dispute" and it involved a meth-addicted couple up on the third floor of my unit at the Redneck Riviera. It looked like a scene from a bad romance movie. The skinny guy with bad tattoos was standing outside while his girlfriend threw all his stuff off the balcony and shouted obscenities. The last remains of a VCR were scattered on the walkway while he dodged the heavier items. Dozens of articles of clothing were spread out while several onlooker gawked until Las Vegas metro police showed up. I expected to see a COPS camera crew jump out of a production van.
Just another Sunday morning. Don't any of these people go to church?
I had a weird ride with a cabbie this morning. He looked like Stu Ungar and his name was similar to a friend of mine. Very freaky. If you don't know, the first novel I wrote was about a Brooklyn taxi driver. One of my favorite stories so far at this year's WSOP was my buddy Jeremey running into the chick from Taxi Cab Confessions. He was more geeked out about that then playing with Johnny Chan.