Vegas

A minute before the plane is about to touch down, I realize I haven't seen a single person on the ground. I start scanning sidewalks and parking lots, to no avail. Plenty of cars, but no people. Just before we land I spot two figures on a baseball mound engaging in a lonely conference; there's no one else on the diamond.

While waiting for the hotel shuttle in XXX 92 degrees, I strike up a conversation with a 60-ish woman from New Zealand. We chat in the shade from a pillar while her husband stands stoically in the sun, arms crossed. They're on a five-city tour of the United States: Los Angelos, Las Vegas, Santa Barbara, Monterey, and San Francisco. I suggest that starting with LA and Vegas is a sort of trial by fire approach to exploring the US and their later destinations ought to be more relaxed. "That'll be nice," she says.

I step into my big, 19th-floor, air-conditioned room and wonder what I'm doing here. Seeing some friends, gathering experiences to write about should I manage to sell a book, playing some poker. I figure it's about time I take a real shot at live poker and see how it suits me.

Bally's, it turns out, charges $13.99/day for in-room internet access, so I'm writing this from Cafe Madeleine at next-door Paris. Going from Bally's to Paris whisks one, Midnight in Paris-like, to the City of Lights, if the City of Lights were contained entirely in a mid-priced hotel.

Off to the tables. Game on.