Voy Por Ustedes

As we speak Boston and Chicago are playing out the last twenty seconds of the third period of over-time in game 6 of their marathon seven game series. My last night in Vegas has just begun. The sun has gone down, the strip is a neon blur and I feel like I'm in over-time too.

Eleven days and eleven nights is too long. Fantasy has not become reality. My fantasies are pretty elaborate and mildly deviant, but they've never included mental and physical exhaustion, horribly chapped lips and swollen ankles and an unquenchable thirst for black current electrolyte powder and being pursued by a swarm of Chinesers.

I won't play poker tonight. I can't cope with any more bust-outs, slow-rolls, piss poor play and piss poor table manners - the poker playing equivalent of eating in a restaurant with Del Boy spilling his peas and gravy all over the table cloth. I'm going to eat in tonight.

I'm still glad I came of course even if it was just to confirm that I ought not to come back. Over the course of this eleven days it has become more apparent how dead the place is. I didn't notice at first, but I've learnt to see past the glitz and I've seen the wizard behind the curtain.

If I did ever come back I would need to have my mob members with me. I would rent a house, rent a car and bring more money and stay less days. I would not come in April again either. April is apparently as quiet a month as December. I want noise. Not the noise of construction workers and Chinesers babbling away - proper noise, fun noise, the kind of noise Vegas invented and can still only be found here.

For now I just want to get on the plane, sleep and wake up in England. Chicago have won!! The last twenty seconds of that game took about 5 minutes. I hope the last hours of my trip here don't take as long.