An odd dream…

As we rode in through the town, out of our provincial habitat, violent rushes overtook me and I knew the deepening feeling was the foreshadowing of my soul being torn slowly apart. Extended stay in these wretched streets and suburbs would surely execute every last one of our morals and keep both my girlfriend and myself scrounging to live in the deserts laid around us.

The first night we were there, a small motel 8 was the only option to rest our wearty heads. The small lobby of the establishment screamed filth of the ‘comings and goings’ of many, many people. Checking in with cold currency was the only way you could gain entry into one of the downgraded luxuries of the Snowy Lodge and Inn [although it seemed a trifle paradox to include 'snowy' in it's name, it was hotter than Dante's pitchfork outside and I doubted they'd ever seen snow]. The balding receptionist, hunched back with an unwavering glare over his thin, tin foil-like glasses was muttering some sort of backwoods incantation to himself and obviously appropriating whether or not I should be allowed acces to the ‘indulgent’ suites he held the keys to based solely on my physical appearance. The judgement was going so well, I kew I’d have to talk my way out of this one, as I would several more times in this hellbound week.

“How may I accomadate you”, the trailer trash creep sneered, a hint of something southern tingled his vocal chords.
“Just need a room for the night”
“Rooms is what we do”, he said with a sideways glare.

The entire time we’re having this mysterious interaction, me in the midst of getting ahold of the key with a downpayment of $85 a night, his greasy eyes and sweaty palms, licking his lips more often than a person, the gritty combover mullet..

“Give me the goddamn key you sneaky bastard”, I broke.
“Well alright”, he said in the calmest of ways, sarcasm oozing through his pores, “Lucky room number 7 for you”. He grinned and awful grin as I put out my arm to get the keys.

I knew as I was leaving the lobby, Bubba inside was chomping at the bit to do something terrible. How long before we were gutted and slung over tree branches? Would he wait until we were asleep or would he just barge in? No need to take a hint, something bad was going to happen tonight.

The car was parked right outside of the room, I didn’t begin to mention the slaughter taht could take place later, I wanted her to try and get some sleep. I’d be watching the door, my six-shot hand cannon aimed at the door. My third sleepless night, paranoia was infused into my innerbeing. The sky would bleed if I cut it with something sharp enough, everything felt dreamlike, drugs could only make this worse so I didn’t dare.

Around a quarter to three in the morning, I could hear a car pulling off of the interstate and into the dirt lot. The person was driving slow without headlights, I smelled our demise. A cardoor opened then shut, a trunk opened - soft muttering - and then shut very quietly. Footsteps in the dirt parking lot, nearing our room, I woke her up and told her to get in the bathtub. She knew the drill somehow, maybe she was just so damned tired that it didn’t even matter. I hid in the crack between the wall and the mattress pad. Revolver ready to blow away the sonuvabitch nearing in on the door. A pause. The cocked and loaded sound of a shotgun, and a blast through the door. I see a true blue outfitted Sherriff. Jesus Christ, I thought, those goddamn greasy eyes. The receptionist was also the local law enforcement, from this point on I made up my mind to sleep more often and never pass through another god forsaken, podunk town like this again.

He moved the barrell around the room, he was confused not to see me. He looked back still aiming the barrell of the shotgun toward the bed, more of that disgusting southern mumble, I took aim at his forhead and shot him dead between the eyes. He flew back what seemed like 10ft and died on his police cruiser.

The question: clean up the mess and stay the rest of the night or get the hell out…?

We drove, out of wherever we were at, into the night towards Las Vegas. I had family there, we had nowhere to go and needed somewhere to stay. Why I chose to drive that way is beyond me, but had I known the eventual muck we’d fight to estrange ourselves from - I would have never gone. Then again, the past is always going to be filled with ‘could’ves, would’ves and should’ves’. No point bickering with myself now.

Down through the deserts, cacti and rattlesnakes. A depressed homeland of heat and despair. You’d freeze in the arctic, but you’d burn out here and I always wondered what would be worse.

The cliched city of sin, the casino lights, all of the anti-conformist syndromes that over ran the chaos of the town. I remember that one movie with Depp, how that circus in Vegas was like the 6th reich if the nazis had won the war. Out like a light, a blinding light, Hitler evaporated.

I had some trouble finding the place, but we were welcomed right in to come and go as we pleased. I didn’t know where we’d be coming or going to but the offer seemed quaint from the distanced relatives. Warm food and a warmer bed was even more quaint. Why were they so kind in this particular fashion. You could imagine us four days along on only peanut butter sandwhiches, devouring a homemade chicken while the family just sat and grimaced as we fed like starved farm animals. Had they been talking or inquiring about our travel? No bother creating a mixup of we’re here, fact is it’s too late to debate why, just a matter of it happening.

Meandering chit chat was later subdued as the hospitable family simultaneuosly “needed to wake up early next moring”, insisting they had JOBS to go to the following day. They emphasized the word JOB, as if it would have some hidden meaning, like a code in a taiwanese prison to be set free. They slept, we rested and the city lived on.

Was this all just a dream?

Looking over the newspapers scattered across the table in their living room I noticed attractions available in this city, attractions so bizarre you’d understand why it would only be found so easily in one place on Earth. I thereby decided, the following evening, we would see the famous inciniary magician.

Celebrity impersonators, unseen talent acts, the city was full of fucking freaks and wasted fame. The relentless cityscape of lights blurred my insomniacal vision, the days drew together like lysergic pools of dripping time. The drive across town near the stratosphere, the illustrious Naked City everyone raved about, the kind of place you’d see street people hanging from nooses tied to street lamps and children playing soccer in the street. The venue this pyrotic magician held his shows was on the outskirts of town, along the sagebrush trails of trailers and broken down mustangs. A tangerine sky equipped with the budding aroma of gasoline and sunset procured my senses, tonight I felt full of terror and surprise. We paid the three dollar fee, my girlfriend striding along side, watching the people gathering around the small stage. This was the kind of place those weird snake charming baptist cults would get bitten, take some anti-venom and praise the Lord for salvation. The revivalist in me made me shout ‘hallelujah’ as everyone went on with their attraction with the neon glow of the stage. Moths to a perverbial flame.

When the Copperfield-ite walked onto the stage, his greasy spiked hair and cliched Dracula cape, everyone gasped and applauded assuming the spectacle they were about to witness would amaze them, if only they knew the sheer devilry that would ensue.

“Bring out the children and wrack them” the sauve magician called, burlapped children where brought out through the crowd. The sacks were removed and the children were tied to racks on the wall. Everyone, seeming crudely astonished by the near abusive antics being viewed gasped at once. He muttered an incantation in an otherworldly deep voice and dropped the microphone, he snapped his fingers and pointed them at one of the children. Immediatly incinerated. One at a time, a finger point and a burn. Again and again. Some people vomited, I stood aghast with a smirk, it must be the lack of sleep. The audience disappeared to me.

“Hurry, take them outside, the sunset breeze is vastly approaching and they must make it to the sun”, he commanded. I decided to get a feel of the charred remains and picked up a body and through it out the old wooden saloon-type doors. The wind picked up and the body flew away into the sky, towards the sinking sun. What was the next part of the trick, I wondered. Was that all? Were we next? I grabbed ahold of my girlfriends wrist, she stood nearly catatonic like everyone else. Why were they all frozen? I lifted her over my shoulder and made my way out of the terrible place.

Into the car to drive away, off we went down the strip again.

I woke up when we arrived back at the relatives house. I woke up and realized the whole thing had been a dream. Of course it was, you don’t just go around murdering people and setting children on fire with raw magical talent. Maybe in Vegas you can though, but it was only a dream.