Old couples wearing what old couples have been wearing ever since polyester and flower print was combined. There are random swells of shouting that travel like The Wave from one end of the street to the other. The MGM Grand, a monstrosity the color of algae, glows incandescent at the curve, pointing toward a collection of fake skyscrapers at New York New York, where you can ride a rollercoaster through the skyline and pretend you're in a cab going down 7th. And more people are erupting from these casinos like pus from a zit with each passing minute as we crawl toward midnight. A madness overtakes you.
Time has no meaning.
Your identity becomes blurred in this trash-compacted collection of people. You know it must be time. Another swell of noise erupts, growing nearer where you struggle to remain upright. You look toward the 900-foot tower at the other end of The Strip, looking for a sign. So you echo the call, shouting to no one and everyone.