[Georgia Avenue]

OP:

This happens to me often, usually around 10 am, when I'm stumbling out to my car to go sleep at that rest stop on th'ACXpressway. Everything looks surreal, like a bad fever dream, and I start to wish for the destruction of the whole fat drug-addled corrupt western world. The freaks and thieves and sad old dumpy grandmas and fat guys without shoes picking at their toes and balding squirrelly ex-executives and blotto guidos are all that’s left of Saturday night’s glamour, and I just want to get the hell out of this hell. I think, “What a colossal waste of time and space and flesh—Something For Nothing, the American Alchemical Dream and I’m no different, I could be doing something productive or creative and instead I’m half-drunk and all tired and as useless as these grotesque, addicted barbarians and losers huddled around their dwindling cups and stacks while the casino rakes their lives into that pit at the center of the whole business…”

Unless I booked a big win obviously. Then it's like fricking Cat Stevens is sitting on my forehead..."Mooorning has brooooken...like the first Mooor-oor-ning...! Blue bird had spooooken...like the First Bird!!!!!!OI!1" YEEEHAW! Aiyahh! Gambooool!

Vegas in 1 ½ Weeks!!! I can’t wait.

--GA