My Cardboard Balcony

I Found Las Vegas by Belinda Roddie I found Las Vegas to be boring, yet my friends dragged me to every bar and show, a beer in hand and a cigarette butt jammed in between their teeth. The casino I last remember had just slot machines, and all I did was crank the lever. I blew fifty dollars, but I made at least two hundred more, and before they could see the cash, I jammed it into the pocket of my coat and made a dash for the door. I paid for a bus ticket back home in Los Angeles and crashed upon my couch, ignoring all the phone calls. I would treat myself to breakfast - something good and sweet.

I had tried desperately to keep the talking light at the dinner table, but the conversation about trains and makeshift tool sets quickly derailed into an argument about the United States' crumbling infrastructure, which then haphazardly spiraled into a shouting match about the minimum wage, which ultimately resulted in my mumbling an "Excuse me" from my seat and heading to the bathroom as soon as my aunt started howling about all the "illegals" coming in to take "Americans' hard-earned" jobs.