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  • Out on the balcony, barefoot in the chill desert air. Vegas still alive, still throbbing.

    Back home on the fuddy-duddy East Coast, it's 8 a.m. People are walking into work, sitting at their desks, opening their shops.

    Here, people are still playing, and they will play tomorrow and the day after and the day after that until Vegas collapses in on itself.

    Sometimes I wish my nature were more play than work.

    But never for long.
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