Vegas, baby, Vegas.
You have to love a hotel convenient store that sells liquor. The Riviera understands my needs, despite that they stuck me in a smoking room and the remnants of my past habit keeps punching my nose. However, I'll deal with it if it means a pint bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label is keeping me company tonight.
Only, as soon as I bought it I realized I have to finish it tonight because I can't fly with it. And I'm supposed to be up at 7:30 tomorrow. And I only got a few hours of sleep last night because my flight was delayed two and a half hours and I arrived at 2:30 a.m. I could be a sloppy mess in no time. I hope in my soon-to-be-stupor I don't wander down to the wedding chapel on the floor below.
That would be an imperfect end to a relatively good day.
After my work duties ended, I headed out for a run. This was at 5 p.m. or so. The temperature was about 107 in the early afternoon, so you can make your guess to how little it had cooled down. I had this peculiar notion, as I sprinted past packs of slow meandering tourists, that I was getting strange looks as I made my way up and down The Strip.
Into the street on narrow stretches. Bounding up the stairs to the overstreet walkways. Weaving in and out of couples holding hands. These were my tactics during my 34-minute run.
On my way back to the hotel, I passed another intrepid runner. (It didn't appear to be someone I might recognize, so I didn't try to closeline him or anything.) When I gave a friendly wave, he said, "Great job!" All I could do was laugh. It was a sign of camaraderie, fools though we might be.
The blast of the Riv's A/C was exultant. My head felt light and I couldn't help but sway when I got into my hotel room, dazed afterward.
I followed my run with a delicious dinner at Tao, an Asian restaurant in The Venetian. I had a soft-shell crab sushi roll. roasted Thai chicken and a piece of wild yellowtail sushi with two bottles of Singha, a Thai beer. Yum!
Oops, just spilled some ice on the floor while refilling my glass. Johnathan, you bastard, you're making me sloppy. Time to go.