Thursday, 9 May 2013

High and lonesome club.

I said Caleb was very busy and that I would have to work hard to catch him up because fucking hipster queen wannabe Lucas couldn't roll his tongue up long enough to actually accomplish anything useful and now...

Well, NOW I'm in Vegas and I've just ordered lunch and really I don't understand how this place can be anyone's on-purpose destination vacation because it smells like a dead hooker floating in an overflowing ashtray outside and it's full of broken dreams and hard hearts, people who only smile at you when you're cashing out with over five figures.

My Monte Cristo sandwich cost $32. I guess the cheese will have gold flakes and high hopes and come with a monogrammed paper napkin.

I don't have high hopes. I used to find this place so grown up and so exciting. Now I just find it depressing. I bet it finds me depressing too.

Batman has already threatened to put me on a plane and send me home, Lochlan was just..I don't even want to go there, and Ben probably doesn't know where I am because he hasn't picked up his messages. I'm not even working. The Devil is at a meeting. He didn't need me there. I worked on the plane and suddenly I don't need to do anymore.

I think I get it.

A knock on the door and I stand way up on my tiptoes to see through the peephole. It's room service.

Champagne? Sure. Leave the bottle. Yeah, I can pour my own. Don't think I need this glass, though.  Can you get me anything else? Sure, I could use an icepick and a steady hand and once I've forgotten my own name I'll probably enjoy myself right? Maybe take in a show. Check out the tables, right, okay. Oh, you say you have something that will let me forget my own name without the icepick lobotomy?

No, thank you, I don't think that sounds like a very good idea. Times have changed.