Motels Only Gonzo 7 -- The Mural Jackpot
My daughter was bushed. She slept in the luxurious Golden Nugget bed like I remembered her sleeping years ago. Peaceful and happy. Slipped out at at 7am for coffee and wandering. Left the shades shut, the room dark. She dreamed.
Las Vegas in the early morning, when the daylight hits it. Gamblers already gambling, some still gambling from the night before. The depressing and annoying casino floor still smelled like cigarettes, the slothead faces were the same. Workers already working the streets. Everyone was up. Dancers, even. The palm leaf flower maker was still busy, his companion sitting on one bucket with face down on another bucket, sleeping. The spray painter was painting. Surely the fumes must have some effect. He seemed calm, focused. Clear-eyed, picking up cans and flipping them around like a black belt in something. Eastern. One painting was a wolf, howling in a dark blue, snowy, mountain scene. It had stars in the black night. One was shooting. ATMs were all out of money. I was hungry.
Breakfast is a rare indulgence, but what is eaten in Vegas, is eaten in Vegas. As the saying goes. The Cadillac Restaurant in the Golden Nugget does a fine Huevo Rancheros. Damn fine. Had a couch seat, planned to be there for awhile. Got liquefied. A good blood mary, coffee, and water. Coffee after coffee. For hours. Some basketball highlights. Silent observations. Couldn't help but notice the advanced median age of the comers and goers. Fair amount of limping, walking equipment, and wheel chairs. Slick back silver haired man with a done up yellow blonde lady on his arm, obviously in love for a long, long time. They were dressed sharply as they scooted with forced posture and chins held high. His cane was marble tipped, she held his arm tight. They were grand. A feeble looking man being wheeled around by a middle aged man. They looked alike. They smoked and coughed, the older one with an oxygen tank hooked on his chair. Only a few kicks left together, they were making the most of it. Like father, like son. A sweet, mature looking midwestern woman, dressed for a Lutheran potluck. She was beaming around a large crowd of people. Obviously, she was the matriarch, the crowd was her family, and their families. Some of them looked like thugs, a few unruley brats ran around wild, no one was doing anything about it. But who am I to judge. She smelled of heavy make-up and cigarettes. She likely picked up the whole tab. Had a final shot of coffee, then went up to the room.
My youngest daughter was up, showered, made up, and ready. It was noon. She wore torn jeans, white Addidas, and an authentic Bob Dylan concert shirt.
We had seen the Noble Prize winner blues out Las Colinas the previous month. Charlie Sexton took a torch to the place. Then to see Doyle Bramhall II at the Granda with my oldest daughter, felt Arc Angels were flying around. Those two together? Forget it.
We walked through the casino floor. Outlaws. She noticed the sadness of the place. The fazed looks. Fun wasn't happening. We quickly took the streets, the casino floor is a lame place. A relic. It was breezy with a perfect November desert temperature. Unchilly, cool. We saw the daytime version of what we saw the night before. Bustling, perhaps an older crowd. The musicians of Fremont were already jamming. The tuition earning violinist, dressed like an Italian poet. Her instrument was badly out of tune. 2 bucks. The young autistic keyboard player with tiny fingers who taught himself to play. (We knew this because of his sign.) He batted his eyes and smiled at my daughter as he played beautifully and flawlessly. "He's sooo cute! Awwww!", as she turned to me with a tear falling down her cheek. 5 bucks. Then a dude dressed in a tight, green, scaley, snake suit of some sort. Put himself in a small box, closed the door, and got back out. It was a really small metal box, his contortions blew our minds. 10 bucks. In all, 17 bucks for a half hour of prime entertainment. Slots are for suckers! Taking a side road, we left the 'district' area and went looking around. We needed a break.
The day was bright, the sky was blue, the sky seemed clean. The streets were clean. Everything seemed orderly. Still twisted and outlandish, but orderly. People seemed to be on their best behavior. Like everyone knew they were getting away with something and no one wanted to mess it up. The beggars just stood with signs, no verbal begging. None. This was the night and day difference in the vibe of the Las Vegas night and day. Clearly, the night was full of louder drunks and more whacked whacks, the daytime was peaceful. A serene asylum.
We walked a few blocks east, then a few north. Then the murals! Unexpected. An urban grand canyon of sorts. Not random graffiti, more like commissioned works of art. Huge building walls, lining entire parking lots, all colors. Street after street. Phrases made us laugh over and over. Impressive detail, scale, and thought. A desert reptile creature stretching 4 car links. Looked like a horned frog. Linus from Peanuts, bemoaning his highth. "Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough!!" He laid wearily on his back, consequences of a Vegas night. It was 5 stories tall. Another one proclaimed melting onto eternity slowly. Eyes and wrestling tigers and a dancing woman holing up an ancient blue star. A green man with a purple robe and flowing sleeves. Rings and bracelets, an owl looked on. Murals were everywhere. Robots, crazy characters, heartbreaks, pride, love. All over for six city blocks. My daughter's portfolio grew. Pictures were liberal, care was taken. Angles, shade, shadows, all considered. Our mural hunt went on all afternoon. It was big game, high stakes, we hit the mural jackpot. We were both tired, satisfied, and hungry.
After a quick rest and refresh in the room we decided on the Golden Nugget hibachi restaurant called Lillie. We wanted a good dinner. Compared to the local hibachi we were used to, this was several levels above. Fresher vegetables, tastier soup, cleaner. Prepared precisely in front of us, all the small details. Stealth service. The knife work, the fire, the choo choo train. Clings and clangs. It was delicious. Her chicken, my jumbo scallops. Steamed rice, fried rice, ginger sauce. As always, I gave up on the chopsticks quickly. My fortune told me to reject laziness, hers encouraged taking action. We paid out, walked through the boring casino floor, and onto the night street. Again, so much to see, to hear, to double take, to endure. We both had our blades on us. The free live bands were starting up. Eventually, we checked the time, we were surprised it was so early. It seemed late to us both. We went to the room for a nap, but not before losing $5 in 5 seconds in a slot machine on the way back. Like suckers.
The next day we would head back east, back to Texas. Naps turned into deep sleeps. The beds were prime, our senses were calmed. It was only 8:30 pm. Downstairs, in the streets, Las Vegas was raging. We dreamed of murals.