This is going to sound bizarre, but if I was to walk around for thirty minutes to an hour or so in Las Vegas and not encounter at least one homeless person, man, I would honestly swear the to you the universe was off kilter or Mad Max was around the corner. It would be a strange feeling for me...a very strange feeling.
An old homeless lady lives, maybe, a hundred and fifty feet from my door step. I walk by her everyday. She hangs out, with her cart, in a little park area across the street. It closes at dusk. After that she moves across the street to a small sidewalk bench and sets up camp.
Whenever I pass by her it is always the same. I'll nod and she will nod back, or vice versa. Never once have we spoken a word to one another, until last night - "Could you get me some ice for my cooler?" There was a soothing sound in the tone of her voice, reminiscent of my grandmothers. I'd always imagined her tone would be gruff. I was mistaken.
My refrigerator has an automatic ice maker that is prone to overflowing - So I told her to give me a minute and I would return. A minute passes and I show with a whole tray of ice. She opens her cooler and I dump it in. She says thanks and turns the other way in her chair. I thought about making small talk and then decided to pass and head back home.
This afternoon I walked past her on my way to the bus stop. I was going to say something, but before I could she gave me the nod and look away. That's been our standard greeting since our first encounter. I don't want to do anything to upset the equilibrium the two of us share, so I reciprocated the gesture and walked past.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
The village idiot of Las Vegas spends the weekend with old friends from Kansas.
Thirty plus years is a long time to still be falling for the same gag, but that's what happens when you are stupid: "Check this out!" I turn my head quickly as the tone of the request in my old friends voice indicated brevity, and wouldn't you know, I now found my nose an inch away from his ass. "You like that, don't you boy," were his exact words as he promptly rips a fart.
After hearing something of this nature most people would be offended by such crude behavior. But in all actuality the effect was different for me. It gave me that fifteen or sixteen again feeling; chumming around with all my pals, telling lies and doing all the things kids like to do. It was a good feeling...it was a hell of a good feeling. (I hope no one thinks after reading this that I enjoy a guy farting in my face):
One of my oldest friends was in town with a big contingent of his family to celebrate a number of birthdays. They rented a party house a mile or so from the strip. He called Saturday and instructed me to get my ass over there. Next thing you know I was knocking on the door. His sister, whom I had never met, answers the door. She was so pretty and sweet. As I am walking in - a familiar face comes in view. It was a friend of mine from Face Book whom I had never actually met in real life (small world). We introduce ourselves and chat briefly. A few moments pass and my old friend walks around the corner with his beautiful wife in tow. When I see his dumb, smiling face - I immediately start feeling thirty years younger.
"Let's go sit in the pool and drink some beers," his idea sounded solid to me. We walk outside, pull our shirts and shoes off, wade into the shallow end, crack a few beers and then start playing - "Do you remember when?"
"Remember that time when Joe Bob took that girl home from the bar. I swear that moron was so drunk he didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Or what about that time he scored a touchdown for the other team," the more we drank, the funnier the stories became. It was like being in a time machine. After two and a half days of nonstop fun it was time for everyone to depart. I sure hope they come back again soon. It was a blast!
I could go on about all the fun I had this weekend with my friend and his family, but I'm not. I want to tell them one thing before I end the post..."The warmth and generosity everyone showed me was phenomenal. I appreciated it more than words can describe...Thank you!"
After hearing something of this nature most people would be offended by such crude behavior. But in all actuality the effect was different for me. It gave me that fifteen or sixteen again feeling; chumming around with all my pals, telling lies and doing all the things kids like to do. It was a good feeling...it was a hell of a good feeling. (I hope no one thinks after reading this that I enjoy a guy farting in my face):
One of my oldest friends was in town with a big contingent of his family to celebrate a number of birthdays. They rented a party house a mile or so from the strip. He called Saturday and instructed me to get my ass over there. Next thing you know I was knocking on the door. His sister, whom I had never met, answers the door. She was so pretty and sweet. As I am walking in - a familiar face comes in view. It was a friend of mine from Face Book whom I had never actually met in real life (small world). We introduce ourselves and chat briefly. A few moments pass and my old friend walks around the corner with his beautiful wife in tow. When I see his dumb, smiling face - I immediately start feeling thirty years younger.
"Let's go sit in the pool and drink some beers," his idea sounded solid to me. We walk outside, pull our shirts and shoes off, wade into the shallow end, crack a few beers and then start playing - "Do you remember when?"
"Remember that time when Joe Bob took that girl home from the bar. I swear that moron was so drunk he didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Or what about that time he scored a touchdown for the other team," the more we drank, the funnier the stories became. It was like being in a time machine. After two and a half days of nonstop fun it was time for everyone to depart. I sure hope they come back again soon. It was a blast!
I could go on about all the fun I had this weekend with my friend and his family, but I'm not. I want to tell them one thing before I end the post..."The warmth and generosity everyone showed me was phenomenal. I appreciated it more than words can describe...Thank you!"
Sunday, August 10, 2014
The village idiot of Las Vegas discusses sex and politics with a working girl.
"Do you mind if I take a seat?" There were fifteen empty benches she could choose from, but for some reason - which I would discover soon, she picked the one I was sitting at.
She was dark, not just a little dark. It was midnight dark. Her body was succulent... it was obvious by the way the summer dress she was wearing clung to it - "How are you?" I say sheepishly. If it was conversation she wanted, it was conversation she would have. "I am fine," she says with a glowing, ivory white smile. "May I ask a favor from you?" she says in a sexy manner. I nod yes, "May I borrow your phone? Mine is dead and I want to call my friend to come pick me up."
As I hand my phone to her, she asks, "What is your name?" I give her my alias, "Andy Gallegos, and what is yours?" I ask in return. She smiles and says, "Sabrina," she then uses the phone and hands it back. I then inquire on what she does for a living, and without hesitation she says - "I dance at Hustler's and entertain on the side." I loved her gall. She was trolling for new customers and wasn't a bit bashful about it. "How long have you been in town?" I ask inquisitively. "I moved from San Francisco a few months ago. I knew I could make a lot more money here than there. Plus, it is so much cheaper to live in Las Vegas," was her response to my query.
The best attribute for women who choose the world's oldest profession as a livelihood is to make sure their marks are at ease. And she had me at ease quickly, very quickly - "Maybe you and I could work something out?" She says with a smile. Truth be told, she is way out of my price range. Shit, a ham sandwich is out of my range. I then say this - "Honey, if only I had the spare scratch. We would go back to my place right now. Unfortunately, you are looking at the poorest guy in town. But if you ever need a practice dummy. I could be that guy!" She laughs and says - "You are such a cutie, and funny. But it's a business. So no freebies."
We chat a little more about the weather and then I say, "I sincerely believe that some time down the road prostitution will be legal everywhere. It has been happening forever. I don't see why it isn't legal now. I guarantee the government can use the tax revenue. Why not regulate and tax it?" After my remark, she smiles and says, "I agree with you one hundred percent. The country would be out of the hole tomorrow if 'whoring' was taxed. I would pay it if it kept me out of trouble." A girl after my heart, Libertarian was written all over her.
We chat a bit longer and then she says, "I have to go now honey, my ride is waiting for me," she hands me a business card with her contact information on it. "If you ever come across any 'fun money.' Give me a call and I will show you the time of your life," were her parting words. Watching her walk off was a treat. Her legs were layered with muscles, her waste was thin and her rear end...oh man. Every step she took her ass would swing back and forth like a ducks. It was as if she had a pendulum in it or something of that nature.
She was dark, not just a little dark. It was midnight dark. Her body was succulent... it was obvious by the way the summer dress she was wearing clung to it - "How are you?" I say sheepishly. If it was conversation she wanted, it was conversation she would have. "I am fine," she says with a glowing, ivory white smile. "May I ask a favor from you?" she says in a sexy manner. I nod yes, "May I borrow your phone? Mine is dead and I want to call my friend to come pick me up."
As I hand my phone to her, she asks, "What is your name?" I give her my alias, "Andy Gallegos, and what is yours?" I ask in return. She smiles and says, "Sabrina," she then uses the phone and hands it back. I then inquire on what she does for a living, and without hesitation she says - "I dance at Hustler's and entertain on the side." I loved her gall. She was trolling for new customers and wasn't a bit bashful about it. "How long have you been in town?" I ask inquisitively. "I moved from San Francisco a few months ago. I knew I could make a lot more money here than there. Plus, it is so much cheaper to live in Las Vegas," was her response to my query.
The best attribute for women who choose the world's oldest profession as a livelihood is to make sure their marks are at ease. And she had me at ease quickly, very quickly - "Maybe you and I could work something out?" She says with a smile. Truth be told, she is way out of my price range. Shit, a ham sandwich is out of my range. I then say this - "Honey, if only I had the spare scratch. We would go back to my place right now. Unfortunately, you are looking at the poorest guy in town. But if you ever need a practice dummy. I could be that guy!" She laughs and says - "You are such a cutie, and funny. But it's a business. So no freebies."
We chat a little more about the weather and then I say, "I sincerely believe that some time down the road prostitution will be legal everywhere. It has been happening forever. I don't see why it isn't legal now. I guarantee the government can use the tax revenue. Why not regulate and tax it?" After my remark, she smiles and says, "I agree with you one hundred percent. The country would be out of the hole tomorrow if 'whoring' was taxed. I would pay it if it kept me out of trouble." A girl after my heart, Libertarian was written all over her.
We chat a bit longer and then she says, "I have to go now honey, my ride is waiting for me," she hands me a business card with her contact information on it. "If you ever come across any 'fun money.' Give me a call and I will show you the time of your life," were her parting words. Watching her walk off was a treat. Her legs were layered with muscles, her waste was thin and her rear end...oh man. Every step she took her ass would swing back and forth like a ducks. It was as if she had a pendulum in it or something of that nature.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
The village idiot of Las Vegas reads the best story ever.
If you walk out the door to my apartment; take a hundred steps to the sidewalk, walk another one hundred fifty or two hundred feet west, turn north, walk a block and a half and then look to your east. You will find a Montessori school. This particular school is designed for the K-4 crowd.
"Hey mister, you want to read this story about my mommy? The teacher gave me two smiley faces." As I was walking by the school on my way to the bus stop, the cutest little bugger I have ever seen accosts me. "It's a really good story mister. You can read it if you want." Initially, I told him no thanks and started to walk past. And then I saw a big frown suddenly appear on his precious little face. It was evident he wanted to show off his efforts. So I obliged him. "Let me see it buddy. I would love to read it," I tell him.
He hands a folded piece of paper to me and says - "All my friends and my teacher like it." I unfold the paper and began to read his story. It went something like this:
"My mommy is the best mommy in the world. She loves me more than all the puppies in the world. My mommy is the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. My mommy likes chocolate ice cream like me. My mommy took me to Disneyland. Even though my mommy and daddy live together no more. She still loves me. She said my daddy loves me too. My mommy got me some new shoes so I could play baseball like my hero Bryce Harper. My mommy tells me that she loves me with all her heart. I love my mommy with all my heart too."
I finish reading the little buggers story and hand it back to him. "That is the best story I have ever read. You are so nice to share it with me," I tell him. He then looks at me and says, "Thanks mister, you are nice. The next story I write is going to be about my dog Lacy. I love her next after my mommy." I tell him to keep up the good work and walk off.
As I sit here putting the finishing touches on my post, I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and tell that little bugger how much I appreciate him and his story. He made an old, broken down, daydreaming bum feel really good for a moment. I am extremely grateful to him for that.
"Hey mister, you want to read this story about my mommy? The teacher gave me two smiley faces." As I was walking by the school on my way to the bus stop, the cutest little bugger I have ever seen accosts me. "It's a really good story mister. You can read it if you want." Initially, I told him no thanks and started to walk past. And then I saw a big frown suddenly appear on his precious little face. It was evident he wanted to show off his efforts. So I obliged him. "Let me see it buddy. I would love to read it," I tell him.
He hands a folded piece of paper to me and says - "All my friends and my teacher like it." I unfold the paper and began to read his story. It went something like this:
"My mommy is the best mommy in the world. She loves me more than all the puppies in the world. My mommy is the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. My mommy likes chocolate ice cream like me. My mommy took me to Disneyland. Even though my mommy and daddy live together no more. She still loves me. She said my daddy loves me too. My mommy got me some new shoes so I could play baseball like my hero Bryce Harper. My mommy tells me that she loves me with all her heart. I love my mommy with all my heart too."
I finish reading the little buggers story and hand it back to him. "That is the best story I have ever read. You are so nice to share it with me," I tell him. He then looks at me and says, "Thanks mister, you are nice. The next story I write is going to be about my dog Lacy. I love her next after my mommy." I tell him to keep up the good work and walk off.
As I sit here putting the finishing touches on my post, I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and tell that little bugger how much I appreciate him and his story. He made an old, broken down, daydreaming bum feel really good for a moment. I am extremely grateful to him for that.
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