This has been, so far, the perfectly right place for me to be. I'm a little drunk right now, appropriately, because I just had a Manhattan with Maker's 46, which I assume is specially aged or something, upgraded for free at the bar where I've been eating my solitary, absolutely delicious, dinners. "It's smoother," said the bartender, who grew up in Edmonton, Alberta, and was a teacher for some time before realizing he could make ten times a much tending bar at the Mandalay Bay. The fancy Maker's and the two cherries certainly made a very lovely dessert.
It turns out that, if you're alone, people chat with you, tell you stories about themselves, ask you what you do. I have yet to tell anyone that the bulk of what I spend my time on is cancer abatement and management, and I've enjoyed being just a slightly odd hotel guest.
I walked 4 miles to a Barnes and Noble today, for example (evidently really odd, not just slightly), and discovered that the wasteland that is Las Vegas isn't just confined to the Strip and all its casinos and crowds, but is multi-layered and complex, with not only hundreds of families and small children about (the "beach" here is shoulder to shoulder tipsy humanity and its offspring), but also tract after tract of barren, trash-strewn desert (and occasional trash-strewn, empty canals).
And yet, as a lone traveler, I'm far from ignored, and I have to admit, the weather that I was desperate for, has been hugely in evidence. Ah, the warmth!
I'm so glad I don't go home until Wednesday.
one-fingered on my phone