- Shawn Alff
- The author working the AVN Award's red carpet
Spiderman and Batman bummed around Las Vegas Boulevard, smoking cigarettes and hassling tourists. Three different black men asked what I needed — if I was good — as they rustled cellophane bags in their pockets. Two white guys sat blocks apart, holding cardboard signs that read, “Kick me in the nuts, $20.” Contingents of Hispanics in neon shirts descended on me at every intersection, offering pictures of call girls.
From a distance, Las Vegas is a mirage, rising up like a city of gold in the heart of the desert. Such excess begs the question: What resource has this modern boomtown unearthed? What exactly is Vegas selling to the millions who visit each year?
This was the fourth road trip I had taken to the West Coast that ended with a stop in Vegas. I always save the city for last because it has a way of draining me completely; my first visit culminated with me in a Clark County emergency room with an IV replacing what I had spent the last two days vomiting up in a back-alley motel.
