August 16th, 2009
Leaving Las Vegas
There is a point in your life, that you realize, if not literally then emotionally, that you are more less alone, and being with someone is like a hit of cocaine: a burst of hot yearning doused with satisfaction, but then still just another papered-over hole.
You can fill it with alcohol, sex, ego or a combination thereof, but every time satiated it slowly empties, substance quickly seeping away like a linen bucket. For a man of apparent success and obsession, there are an awful lot of facades you can come home to. You gamble on your career because it doesn’t ask anything of you emotionally, and in turn that’s what you end up with: ephmeral pleasure and seductive lies you take to bed. You keep telling yourself you really ought to stop and just fold, but in the end you’ll die at the tables– you can’t leave Las Vegas.
