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Vegas haze



again the sultry memories rise, like a mirage out of the desert…

back in the day when you had to go to Vegas to gamble,
before there was a casino at every whistle-stop in these
Misguided States of America.

slot machines at the airport are mechanical temptresses. you
can go broke before you ever invade the casinos on the Strip.

when you walk down the street at night you see the hookers
lined up like gas station pumps. take your pick, Regular or Ethel.

5AM. eggs, sausage & coffee at Denny’s. Jehovah's witnesses
making the rounds. for a small donation, they’ll pray for you soul.
I donated my soul long ago to pay for a string of broken hearts
from Georgia to Colorado in my bastard military days. to save you
from a shotgun wedding, Uncle Sam in his benevolence would ship
you overseas w/a loaded rifle & a pkg of slightly defective Trojans.

once, a dark beauty packin 44 inches of embraceable Texas melons
boldly interrupted our poker game, said she could drain all six of us in an hour & then work a double shift at the hospital where she performed as a nurse comforting the sickly all night after satisfying the wretchedly horny all day.
and she did.

those non-refundable nights when I was drunk on many sins,
drifting in a Vegas haze.

little city, surrounded by a desert where Moses & God’s orphans
may yet be wandering…



Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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