Las Vegas Airport 3AM

New York is the “city that never sleeps,” but for genuine insomnia you can’t top Las Vegas. I stroll though the airport at 3AM after eighteen hours of hell in O’Hare.

The place is sprawling, with garish islands of slot machines strategically placed to shake out the nickels of passersby.

It’s there I see her, a pretty girl who might be beautiful in another time and place.

She stares into the flashing screen amid a chorus of chirps and beeps, picking quarters from a souvenier plastic casion bucket and feeding them to the machine, her face a mask of despair.


This is a story based on a poem I wrote a couple of decades ago

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  1. rochellewisoff

    Dear Josh,

    I could just picture this. But then, I’ve had layovers in Las Vegas before. ;) Your last line could lead to a whole ‘nuther story. Great piece!



  2. pennygadd51

    You imply a strong backstory here. You’ve left me curious about both what came before and what came afterwards. So sad when people give all their attention to an electronic display (said the woman who’s spent most of the day at the computer…)

  3. Dale

    I clicked on your link – loved your poem and the text before.
    And this.
    I remember going to Vegas and being surprised that the whole gambling thing started right there at the airport. Excitement replaced by some desperation.

Don't just stand there.