SOC #14: Wasting away blearily in Las Vegas

There's nothing better for the soul than memory; no matter if it be positive or negative, it can give you a better perspective and may aid your well being. It has for me. Comic-con was over and my friend and I departed without saying goodbye to either Bee Bee or that Skank. We packed our things and checked out of the Hotel. On our way out of San Diego we lit a joint and made a beeline for the great, shining, spectacular party city of Las Vegas where dreams can come true - if you got the money, that is. Let me just get to the point: the trip resulted in the draining of my finances, my dignity, my self-respect, and most of all my self-awareness of the consequences of my actions. Even after coming home from the trip I cared not for spending so much money and then continuing to spend more of it until it was gone. Anyways, we made our way to Las Vegas late in the afternoon, a few hours before the sunset. My friend did some bumps of cocaine at a few stop lights. Then, for no good fucking reason, the gonzo hit me, and I ate some more of the acid laced shrooms. I don't know what came over me. An impulse of the moment in which it felt like I was in a void filled with bright spiraling light, and the only way to remain sane in this upright maelstrom was to get into a prolonged derangement of the senses. I think unconsciously I hated Las Vegas. Guess it was a clairvoyant thing that made me know what that fucking city was going to do to me. My friend saw me reach in the open zip-lock bag for a second serving of the acid-shrooms. He said, "Puto, I thought you wouldn't do that shit again." I said, "Oh, I thought they were Beef-jerky." Then I burst out laughing maniacally. "Fuck it. Fuck inhibitions, I'm in fucking Las Vegas." My friend said, "Save me some. Don't eat them all." I said, munching on my second serving of the acid-shrooms, "Whatever, coke-head. Lets find a cheap-ass Hotel closest to the strip." My friend informed, "There are not cheap-ass Hotels nearest to the strip. Just look at all these extravagant mother-fuckers." I said, "Cheap, fucker. CHEAP! CHEAP! We're not on unlimited credit." My friend asked, "What's got into you?" I replied, "You know, I could never have fucked Bee Bee, though I got to be in her presence." My friend said, "I tell you, man. You could've had her. She liked you." I asked, "How could you tell? You were busy with the skank." My friend said, giggling, "Yeah, she was an easy insert. Put some magic powder in her, and the legs open." I said, revolted, "Disgusting." We found a cheap-ass Hotel nearest to the strip. Well, the cheapest we could get. I had my friend check us in while I sat in the car, looking straight ahead, making sure I wasn't staring at anyone walking by, leaving or entering their rooms. I thought about Bee Bee as an Angel that day we walked to the Convention. If only I wasn't on this shit I'm on right now. But then again, I had my new girlfriend back at home. She told me before I left that I could do as I pleased, but not to tell her until she asked. "I don't think I'll lie to her," I thought. She was my real Angel. My friend opened the door. He parked the car nearest to our room, which was on the top third floor, we then got our luggage and walked up the stairs to our room. My friend asked, "Why you keep giggling?" I said, "I didn't know I was." My friend said, "We'll unpack our shit, get into new cloths, smoke some weed, do some blow, then walk the strip." I said, "No more coke for me." My friend said, "But acid-shrooms is okay." I countered, "Just this last time." In the room we took our showers and shaved, making our bodies look and smell nice. We got dressed in our best attire. My friend had to pick out what I had to be sure I looked the coolest I could be: a Misfits t-shirt, black jean shorts. He said, "Be sure the chain from your wallet hangs out. It's a good look." I said, "Chicks are gonna think I'm a goth." My friend countered, "No, they're gonna be impressed you don't give a fuck about other people's perception of you." We left the Hotel and got in a cab. The driver, from my perception at that point, was a cheetah with pink hair. My friend asked the pink cheetah, "Where's the best club at, the most happening." The pink cheetah looked in the rearview mirror at us with his green eyes. He said, "I got just the place for you two." I said, "Cool, take us there, and we thank you." The driver said, "My pleazzzzuurrrrre." That, for some reason, got my heart beating fast. The cab pulled up to the Hard Rock Hotel. The pink cheetah told us there was a nightclub called "Vanity" that, from what he could tell by the look of us, was fit perfectly for us. We paid him and made our way to Vanity's entrance where there stood a security guard. He asked us, "You gentleman staying in the Hotel." My friend replied, "Unfortunately not. Couldn't get a room." My friends lie was effective, I think. The big, bald security guard, who wore an all black suit and a pair of sunglasses, said "That sucks." He looked me up and down. "I like your shirt. I'm a big fan of them too." I said, "Thanks." The guard said, "Go on in you two. Have a good time." We entered. I think in Las Vegas, just like drunks, they love people on hallucinogens and coke. Of course it was the kind of club that I hated: fucking strobe lights, fucking big-ass disco ball, fucking techno-industrial-hip-hop. But there were two exceptions: Hot chicks, and I heard some rock and roll in the music, and some metal at times. We sat at the bar and my friend ordered us sweet-tasting mixed drinks and two shots of rum. He said, both of us holding up our shots, "Here's to Las Vegas." I said, "Hopefully we remember it." My friend retorted, "Who fucking cares we don't remember? I won't." We tapped our shots to one another and downed them. I chased it down with the cocktail my friend ordered me. I didn't know what it was called, but I do know it was green. My friend ordered two more shots. I looked at the bartender and saw she was a TSA officer in her blue uniform and wearing latex gloves. After she went to another patron, I asked my friend, "You think she'll grope us for weapons?" My friend looked at her ass, then replied, "I'll grope her ass with my dick." Three young ladies came up to the bar nearest to my friend. He began talking to one of them. I could hardly hear the conversation. Two came up to me asking if I really wrote a novel. I affirmed what my friend told them, and they seemed overly amazed and impressed as if I was already made of money. My friend and I danced with them. After we went to the casino floor, the ladies in tow. We played craps, lost money; played Black Jack, lost money; played slots, lost money; there was a show at The Joint - a famous rockstar was playing, don't remember who - there were still seats available, near the front actually. I bought us all tickets - fucking expensive. I can't remember the fucking rockstar because all I saw on stage singing was a big fucking bear roaring into a mic, and the band members were orangoutangs. They really knew how to play for low-to-no-IQ animals. The show was over, it was just passed midnight, I guess, we went to another bar with the ladies. My friend gave them some coke to snort in the bathroom. The bar was full of what I could tell were Aliens from different cultures throughout the entire universe. I asked my friend, "Are we on Coruscent?" My friend asked, "Where?" I said, "Never mind." We took the ladies to our Hotel room and it turned out they were fucking prostitutes. GODDAMNIT! But I kept my cool. I gave my friend some of the biggest bills I had left on me, then headed downstairs and walked along the strip. I found it fucking hilarious that amongst all the spectacular, colorful, flashing, shining lights of Las Vegas that on the sidewalk were short men passing out prostitute cards, or Jesus Freaks yelling about Vegas being the work of Satan and shit. I yelled, "God's Mercy on all you swine!" Then I lit a cigarette and found a good spot to sit and watch the Sun's light fill the sky.