My Dumb Observations

It's 4 am on a Tuesday night and I'm waiting for a bus on the heart of the Las Vegas strip. Even though the World Series of Poker is in full swing, there's not a soul walking the boulevard. Three of us are waiting for the northbound double decker. One is a 65 year old gap toothed woman. She's either borderline homeless or a downtown resident with a blue walker and six multi-colored plastic bags tied to the hand brakes. The other is a middle aged cat with greying kinky hair and a fanny pack. He's rockin' an old school sweat suit and blasting music through a cushioned set of head phones. The half-assed bus shelter offers a steel bench intentionally too narrow to sleep on, nor will it adequately shelter anyone from the elements. The greatest elemental challenge, though, is leapfrogging over the tributaries of piss crawling across the sidewalk to the curb.  Any person of average intelligence might hop into a cab at this sight alone, but my inner voice tells me not