Leonard Cohen is attempting to seduce me, low in my ear, and I'm sitting here inextricably and hopelessly caught within an anxious web of Vegas anticipation. Those readers and bloggers who are relegated to living vicariously through us Nevada bound souls must forgive us. It's only going to get worse as the clock ticks and the days, hours, minutes and seconds to launch sweep by.
I know some of what to expect. I will not sleep the night before wheels up. I will arrive at the airport far earlier than needed. The plane will be festive, soaring through the blue carrying the hopes, fantasies, and schemes of fortune seekers, gambling addicts, dreamers, honeymooners and bachelors lusting for the promise of adventure shimmering from the bosom of an oasis in the dessert.
My heart will quicken upon descent as the skyline comes into view. Heading
up the walkway to the terminal, I will want to begin calling anybody and everybody
I have a phone number for. But I must play it cool.... The ride to the hotel
will seem interminable. Vegas will be reaching out to me, stroking my senses,
welcoming me with a glint in her eye, temptation on her lips.
From this point on is speculation. Check-in, rush to the room, unload, hang up what must be hung up, throw the rest in a drawer. If no incoming call has occurred, now is the time to start the search for the first poker blogger human - live and in person. The butterflies in my stomach will be dancing an apaché until that first contact. That first contact. Contact.
And then it begins. An almost imperceptible, but unmistakable, shift will occur. I will let Vegas embrace me and for the next 65 hours there will be no place but here, no time but now. No answer but — yes.
