Black hats
I've snuck off to Vegas for a quick trip.
I suppose y'all will be expecting one of those exaggerated, breathless Vegas diaries.
You know, the ones where the protagonist goes 72 hours without sleep, gambles nonstop except to hit the strip clubs, the sidekick goes on some sort of wacky misadventure, and there's a z-list celebrity sighting in the bathroom. And the story inevitably ends one of two ways, either they lose almost all their money at the end and hit it big on their last hand; or they go on a huge roll for the whole trip and blow it all at the end. (*Add line about setting self on fire here*).
My typical Vegas trip consists of a day of gambling and a day of driving through the desert into California or Utah getting my head together. Maybe I'll stumble on an alien or something.
On my flight down from Seattle there were not one, not two, but six men in black cowboy hats on the plane. Maybe there's a convention for Western movie extras or something.
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