Yes, Comrades
My head.
In a bit.
Nah, Mr and Mrs Nancy gave us a lift to Greyhound. The bus (sorry, "we") was half an hour late. Still, never mind. We sat there for nine hours, playing music, with the Kindle, and that was really all. The bus ride was fine, so many fucking stunning views as we paraded through Flagstaff, Kingman, Riverside - which is the Arizona they show you in the guidebooks.
We made stops at McDonalds and friends with connections. I had enough nicotine via stops and lozenges, so I was pacified. Them bastards kept taking me bloody photo an' all. Still, as I say, beautiful trip, with Random Access Memories keeping me satisfied. Listen, everyone, especially you, Don and Bunny Bongo: Get it, listen to it, love it.
Vegas, baby. Greyhound was right next to the Golden Nugget. It was 8pm, the neon and flashing was quite something to behold. A taxi took us down the freeway, as a certain song came on the radio, one from the aforementioned album, for the second day in a row.
The Luxor looked even grander than I remember. We checked in, and on the way to the room we were given VIP passes to the LAX club. Our room was bloody huge, it could easily fit thirty people. It also had a hot tub.
We got dolled up and headed for LAX. Open bar for two hours in this tiny place. Oh, this was after we met our connection and got geared up. The whisky...holy fuck, I think it was a quintuple, it nearly killed me.
We bought our own liquor from a gas station after this, to the room, a blunt and some beers, then splash and a rub a dub dub in the tub. We ordered three $30 sandwiches, and just had the time of our lives. Poor waiter didn't have a clue. We chatted a whole lot of shit as our souls drifted merrily away in that tub. Mama Sheba hit the hay, myself and Irie Nancy had one of those 3am chats. 4:40am, fade to black.
"Then to the S T U D I O 54, you gotta go"
In a bit.
SD
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