Last night my friend Dan stopped by. He has called the church courtyard across from where I live home for the last five years. We were standing in the driveway with the Clyde (the house cat) at our feet. The following is an excerpt of our conversation:
"Do you want to know something? I have lived in North Las Vegas (NLV) for thirty years. Your blog brings out the flavor in it. I really like the direction you are headed. I can see how you want to bring it visual. It would be the next logical step," hands down the biggest fan of my blog in NLV is Dan.
"Dan," I say to him with many thanks in my tone, "I agree with you wholeheartedly about the flavor NLV holds. It is a unique place with lots of unique characters living in it." NLV is a section of Las Vegas proper that 250,000 people call home. It was hit hard by the recession, but I am seeing signs of life - Dan is a lifelong Raiders fan, he was born and raised in SoCal, but I am converting him. A few weeks ago I gave him a Chiefs hat - his previous hat was looking worse for the wear. Anyways, I wrote a post about the experience and it became the second most viewed post I have ever written. He is that kind of guy.
"Rob," he says to me in a pleasant tone, "I sincerely believe you have the talent to make something special of your writing. You do an excellent job of capturing things and the great thing about it is you tell the stories so fluid. I enjoy reading them immensely." After his compliment I decide to anoint him with a very special title - "I got to tell you something," I say with a wide grin, "You have been appointed the official president of The village idiot of Las Vegas fan club. Unfortunately, it is an unpaid position. But who knows? Maybe one of these days I will be able to afford a salary for you." We both share a hearty laugh at the statement and he says, "I accept your offer. I sincerely believe you will find a way to make things come to fruition."
We chat a little more about the comings and goings of the neighborhood and then he asks - "How the hell did Clyde get so fat? He use to be a lean, mean, fighting machine. He has gone soft," Clyde is the house cat. He use to be feral but everyone started feeding him and now he looks like the cartoon version of Garfield. "Hey fat boy," I say as I reach down and scratch his belly, "Did you hear what Dan said about you? He thinks you have gone soft," - he starts purring and begins rubbing against my leg -- "He has gone soft," I add as I look up at Dan and laugh - "You need to quit feeding him so much," Dan responds, "All the other feral cats in North Las Vegas are going to be jealous of his girly figure."
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