whip

the barista and i have a moment. Lavazza café. hotel lobby. she can see i can see she's not thrilled to be working over the holidays and i feel for her. all around us people are playing. a few of them winning a lot of them drinking some of them smoking. most of them losing. she asks me again. changes my heart on it. push the valve. soft top my mocha with whip

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of the sun

across from the Bellagio

we watched the street performers

and the fountains a script of dances

night mistaken for day

the Cirque De Soleil

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the land of anything possible

a mile off the Strip past the Crazy Horse III to find a bank because you don't use plastic. i don't care. i could walk for days. behind us the Luxor. streets named after rat pack. guy in a pickup pulls over to proposition. things quickly go awry in the land of anything possible

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travels

we headed north toward Reno. it's gonna be a white out, said a man holding chains on the shoulder, i'd recommend you good folks find somewhere to shelter for the night. we thanked him and mapped our way around the Sierras. 395 south into Bakersfield, by way of Mt Whitney. the snow turned to rain. sheets and sheets of it. rising off the container freight in transit. truck after truck after truck. headlights and brakes. we found a service station with less than five miles in the tank. someone or thing was looking out for us.  #katyamills

leaving Las Vegas

you hurl the core of apple out the window as we speed across the desert lands. Piute country. a wall of mountains either side. a federal prison. a reservation. we break west through an ancient pine cone forest. we stop so you can pee. 7000 feet high. spell our names in the snow. 

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lights. camera. action

Paris hotel and casino. a replica of the Eiffel Tower steps one giant welded leg into a generous lounge. statue of a man mopping the street outside a piano bar and crêperie. you grab the handle to help him. i take your photo. the action here never ends. brave faces under the lights. the work is never done.

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avocados on sale

boys chase around the aisles with sacks of weighed apples. avocados on sale. mom pauses, picking the purple textured skins. hopeful. but what would we trade out for it? almond milk? Diana Ross sings over the din of bar code scanning. she lifts her head and closes her eyes

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