Las Vegas is Cardboard.
Published in Over the Transom #23, 2012 Copyright©Jerry D. McDonnell, 2011 by Jerry D. McDonnell She told us, “I don’t like San Francisco because the people aren’t friendly. I like Las Vegas because it’s fake.” She was an artist. Had her own studio. In the strip mall her husband owned. Frank, Franky, we called him, left the Lake (Tahoe) and went to Vegas. A year later he came back for a visit. Decided to stay, but he had left his stuff in Vegas. I had two days off and hadn’t been back to Vegas since I skipped north a few years back. We left the Lake at midnight in the VW Bug. Across the flat Nevada desert our joint smoking altered minds created deep, dark canyons down, down through. Drove all night across the dark void imaging the nuclear testing grounds near to the east, smoking joints, laughing about mutant monsters jumping out of the dark until we scared ourselves. Fear eased off with the downtown lights of Tonopah. At first light the gaudy lights of downt