I think there are mushrooms growing in my armpits. If you can smell yourself, it's not a good sign. I roll into vegas. I hate this town. No soul, just fake and cheezy TV style glitz and glamour.
Nothing has substance or personality.
Noisy, congested and growing far too fast, the city is ringed by enormous patches of new housing. Cheap and tacky, they are bound to be the slums of the future, more fodder for the Lost America spirit I suppose. As much as I hate it, vegas did have a good camera store and I buy a real nice tripod and stock up on film and ice and get out as quickly as possible, back to the stone cold reality of the desert. I drive into into Death Valley next. First time back in a number of years.