Below me, what s left of the Colorado River gleams amber. Housing developments metastasize into the eastern hills. There are roads where, six months ago, there were none, and streetlights where once only cholla and mojave yucca shimmered at dusk. I cross the river into a gazillion-watt kaleidoscope, emerald, silver, bright pink and gold, Colorado Belle, Pioneer, Golden Nugget, a cowboy two stories high waves day and night, and you open the door to your room with a computerized card. The sidewalks are thronged with old couples in matching pastel jogging suits.
Old women lean on walkers.
Old men lean on their wives. I park my truck, grab my lucky bucket of nickels, and hustle toward the Golden Nugget. A hound-faced guy opens the smoked glass door. I walk through into a jungle. Impossibly turquoise water spills over polymer boulders.