I used to go out to Lake Mead every so often to relax. Lake Mead is one of the largest manmade lakes in the world. I would usually stop at the marina if I were by myself. If I were with a friend, we would go out to the beach to swim and drink and hang out.
There is something sublime about a large body of water appearing suddenly in the desert. It was cooler there, and I could smell the water. I could detach from the intensity of my Vegas life. My last trip out there I was on suspension from my job at Buffalo Bills at State Line. I was phoning Fred Haff, the casino manager. I had been suspended for lipping off to a guest. He informed me that I was fired and advised me that it was my fault; which it was but I didn't care. At all. I just wanted to get away with it. It was a pretty good job, and my fortunes were about to take a steep descent into four years of grinding poverty. That's what it cost me to run my fucking mouth.
Well, anyhow, Haff also got fired about three weeks after me for what I don't know. I was glad, yeah, but he got a job in management at the MGM not too long after. We both got fired, but management tends to look after each other. They breathe different air.
I absorbed my dismissal, and I hung up my cell and went into the gift shop and bought a bag of popcorn; a big bag. I went out onto the dock leading out to the gift shop, restaurant, and main marina. I opened the bag right up and dumped the whole bag into the water all at once. The water boiled with sucker fish in a feeding frenzy. I think they were carp. They were ugly fish. I wouldn't eat them.
After a time I got into my Honda and drove back into town. I had to scramble to dig up a survival job. I was consigned to bottom level jobs. I had too many joints on my printout. I was almost forty, old for the business unless I was ensconced in a stable job, which is what State Line was. But I had burnt that down.
I got King 8 through an employment agency. Their motto was, "We deal in dealers." Three hundred bucks. But then I bitched, and the other partner lowered it to a buck and a half. I didn't pay that either. These were a couple of East Coast assholes, and their whole agency was bogus. I was desperate, and I was grasping at straws. I would have paid for Binion's, but they couldn't deliver. They were sending me to Lady Luck and other bottom feeders. They sent me to Texas Station, where I auditioned, and