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Beer, brewing and poker, with possibly some inane drivel on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Part IV: Early Friday(Good lord, I'm only on Friday?)

It's hard to sleep when the beating in your chest is louder than the Telltale Heart. I have the Redbull from the MGM to thank for that. Fuck you very much, Redbull. Not that sleeping is expected in Vegas in the first place, but I would've liked, oh I don't know, more than 5 hours of uninterrupted nappy-time after being up for close to 24 hours the previous day.

I got out of bed, showered, grabbed a large mocha from the Starbuck's downstairs and was about to set off on the quest for the Holy Grail. Uh, I mean hat. Still hadn't found a fucking hat. By the way, stacking coffee on top of lingering traces of Redbull on an empty stomach is smart. Though you see almost every shape, size and variation of human being in Vegas, nothing instills fear in the locals and tourists alike, than the skinny tweaker shaking his way down Las Vegas Blvd, mumbling something about a stupid hat.

While I was standing in Starbuck's, I witnessed something that I still don't quite understand. There was a homeless man wandering around outside the door. Now, Minneapolis has it's fair share of homeless people, and if not trying to stab you for an AquaNet fix, they're usually pretty harmless. This man made me wonder: At what point do you give up on trying to keep your dignity? He had obviously not reached that point.

His overabundance of bedraggled hair more than made up for his lack of shoes, whatever that means, as he hovered around the coffee shop's large circular garbage can. People would pass by, younger kids and older couples--face it, anyone else up at 9am in Vegas has either been up all night, or is an idiot. I'll let you make the call on which group I should've been lumped in with--and he'd nonchalantly peer into trash bin, but he was behaving as though he didn't want people to notice this. Just scoping things out, I guess.

Finally, during a lull in the pedestrian traffic, the man pulled an Alex mask (inspired by the movie Madagascar) from his back pocket, put it over his wiry beard, and thrust himself shoulder deep into the garbage can. I'm not sure he came out with anything useful, and had I not been so tired and jittery, I probably would've laughed.

I can't imagine the thoughts going through his head.

Coming down from a rubbing alcohol bender is hell. I don't know where my shoes are. I smell like I've been showering in a shit distillery, and I haven't shaved since the Fuad left the Vikings. But, at least I have this Lion King mask to prevent people from recognizing me as I dig through other people's garbage. Hooo boy, that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it? I'd never be able to show my face in this town again.

At what point does this guy drop the mask and admit to himself that things are looking a little bleak?


At 1:40 PM, Blogger BG said...

At what point? Roughly hour 31 of your first Vegas bender. He wasn't homeless, that was just a tourist from Topeka. I'm sure the American Dried Spices Council Convention was missing one Thursday evening keynote speaker or something.

At 8:41 AM, Blogger BadBlood said...

"since Fuad left the Vikings" - great stuff. Even this Pats fan remembers Mr. Revez.

At 12:01 PM, Blogger Drizztdj said...

I picked out a nice credenza at OfficeMax for Fuad once.

He's a lot bigger in person.


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