Dear Wigleaf,

What if Vegas were another word for therapy? Then this: the prescription to get out of the woods, as they say (with woods the mossy channels of the brain). Wrap it up. No more time to climb exposed roots in the woods, hunting for morels in early spring or ringing our nails with wet dirt. What if Vegas were a code word for combat, and this program the online directive ordered by a kid named Cody who gets a free pastry on Mondays thanks to a Starbucks membership purchased by his mom? What if Vegas meant mourning or government or love, or anything cozy and soft next to Rhinestone Elvis?

Giddy-up, my friend! Let's go Price Is Right until the cocktail hour, maybe sip a dip in the Pleasure Pool before Cher takes the stage and we split a steak. Goodbye to self-reflection when the day body slams you into existence, so double bill me and double down. It's a two-show kind of day. There's no final curtain in Vegas, there is only yes and more and mmm…this is tasty, and despite indications otherwise, hasn't your goal always been to drop the bass at Voodoo Lounge?

A thought: Appalachian Trail. I got my shortwave radio. Pack the bear spray.

Your bad influence, 
Rosie




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