Walking against the wind he crossed the scraped desert mounds of sand, gravel, dead cactus,
new black roads empty reminders.
The inhabitants of distant row houses (desert dwellings?) could not see his nakedness (he imagined).
Were they old, of failing eyes, heavily medicated awaiting death as they had lived life? (Indifferently)
(Occasionally) rabbits, lizards and flocks of small birds were spotted
the hum of insect life (reassuring).
When he stopped, he wished for water.
Instead he looked back at the skyline of corporate Las Vegas small against reddish mountains.
He recalled a newspaper:
The gaming industry had “made” $580 million the previous month and this was considered reason for optimism.
The moon, almost full, was rising to his left and the sun, always full, was setting to his right
He carried an old video and turned it on himself
“Welcome to hell.” he said this time, without a smile
How would he look on camera?
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