The hotel really was huge and exciting. I navigated the casino floor once again, drinking-in the atmosphere. Men and women sat at card games I couldn’t understand, sometimes shouting aloud in glee; sometimes cursing and swearing in anger. How much cash must this place take each night?
A wide corridor led off away from the hubbub and the comparative quiet was a relief. The carpet underfoot was soft and comforting on my aching feet and I followed a veritable throng of people towards a set of doors marked ‘MGM’, where, on the other side, I was met with an almost identical scene as the one I had just left. A crazy sensory overload of flashing lights, noise and people all hoping to strike it lucky. Again I wandered between tables and machines, sometimes almost enticed by their hypnotic appeal. I preferred, however, to watch others lose their money and so, in an uncharacteristic display of common sense, my wallet stayed deep in my pocket, hidden away, like a willy in a cold swimming pool.
The most amazing building I came across was certainly the Luxor hotel. How on earth it was constructed I cannot imagine. From the outside, it’s a pyramid, modelled obviously on the Great Pyramids of Egypt, complete with its own giant sphincter guarding the entrance. Massive, jet black, and with a single intense beam of light bursting high into the air from its apex, it was very impressive. But inside it was amazing. The whole pyramid structure is hollow! Gigantic concrete beams at each corner support the whole thing somehow as it towers skywards. It is an incredible feat of engineering.
Outside again and the warm air had not abated and neither had the number of people. I crossed a concrete overpass, weaving in and out of the crowd and dodging the numerous beggars holding up scribbled messages on grubby bits of cardboard, messages that sadly demonstrated how far their creators had fallen, asking now for ‘any help’. A world away from the glitter and glitz, yet separated only by a glazed door.
Down the escalators to the street below and I was standing on the world famous Strip.
Massive buildings lined each side: a huge reproduction of the Blackpool tower*, a massive likeness of the statue of Liberty, beautiful artistic creations, and gigantic, imposing hotel blocks standing like cliff faces, a myriad of flashing, brilliant lights and all around, a sea of people of all creeds, colours, races … and Rogers! It really was amazing. So many people and so many pretty girls. Some of them, dressed as showgirls and posing for photos with slavering men, were wearing little more than a skimpy star spangled bikini top and a bit of dental floss stuck up their arse cheeks. My penis didn’t know which way to look! Viva Lust Vegas!
I wandered willy-nilly for a long while, relaxed, even though I was trying not to grin like the cat that shit in the coco pops. I had shaken off the tiredness that had cloaked me and I drew energy from the crowd, gazing at each new wonder, wide-eyed and mouth a perfect ‘O’. Imagine a caveman watching a match being struck.
If you cast your mind back to a previous entry, dear reader, you will remember I mentioned the Hard Rock Café tour I was embarking upon? This one, the Las Vegas one, I considered the cherry on top. A tee shirt from here and I would be a happy camper. It was, perhaps, the main reason for coming to Las Vegas and would make all the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune worth suffering. I was thrilled, as you can imagine, to suddenly see across the road from me, the unmistakable 
frontage of the Las Vegas Hard Rock Café, as recognisable as Dolly Parton’s tits and equally as impressive. The huge neon Les Paul adorning the whole front of the building made my eyes light up and music pounding out onto the street gave my legs that extra boost of energy. I found a crossing place and waited impatiently for the signal to cross.
The crowd seemed to congeal around the brilliantly lit pavement outside and I took a moment to snap the photo I needed and then headed towards the doors, my stomach suddenly craving a big fuck-off, greasy, cheesy, fatty-fat-fat burger, with a fuck off mountain of fucking fries.
I got as far as the entrance before being confronted by a belt buckle. Standing in front of me and barring my way was a guy so big he had moons orbiting him. He was big in every direction. He wasn’t circumferentially challenged either. He was just one big muscle and he was informing me that the place was closed, as it was booked for a private party. How fuckingbellendbollockingbastarding inconsiderate is that I hear you cry? There’s me, come all the way from foreign fields to be as one with the Hard Rock Café family, only to be told to piss off cos someone else got there first! I briefly considered punching him right on the fucking chin … then thought better of it! I couldn’t have reached anyway, not without asking him, ‘Excuse me, but would you mind stepping over to this low wall? Only I want to break my hand on your jaw but I can’t quite reach.’
Instead I simply groaned in dismay and asked him what time it opened tomorrow. His reply was devastating. Imagine someone hacking your computer and stealing all your best porn; imagine a really gorgeous girl takes you home and you rip off her clothes, only to find she’s ‘packing meat’; imagine seeing your mum on realdogginghousewives.com! He simply told me it was closed tomorrow, as there was another party booked. All this fucking way for nowt! It just got better by the minute! If anyone was listening, then I’m sure they would’ve heard the hiss of escaping air as I physically and mentally deflated. Well and truly fucking 
pissed-off, I turned back the way I came. This was a pile of shite! Everything was going wrong and I was too tired to care anymore. I didn’t even have the energy to barge in there and go sort-out this Mayweather cunt, whoever he was. I just wanted to get back to the truck and hide until tomorrow.
Back down the boulevard of broken dreams I turned, tired, dishevelled, and oblivious even to the pretty young women who drifted past.
* Definitely Blackpool Tower!
WanderinRogers 
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