Category Archives: Lost Wages

The Spear Carriers

Chewing the fat with long-time Las Vegas residents never tires. By that I don’t mean retirees who’ve descended here from elsewhere. Those people invariably have nothing interesting or worthwhile conversationally to add. Just complaints about today and regrets regarding opportunities deferred then dismissed through lengthy delay.

There’s only so much wistfulness one should hear until it starts burdening the present. Besides, once here and once monotony sets in too many of them become pill-poppin’ day drunks. Continue reading The Spear Carriers

Away from the Range

At the beginning of December, the National Finals Rodeo returned to Las Vegas after a year’s absence. In 2020, Covid conditions pushed it to Texas. The Lone Star State offered less stringent health conditions than Nevada.

It still does. Continue reading Away from the Range

Gone Shadows

Autumn stretches a lighter hand across the Mojave than she does upon the Northeast.

Although the desert days shorten and the shadows lengthen as well deepen earlier, the chill which accompanies these shifts lack the same heralding of great changes which will occur in New York.

Except in the dispatch that follows. Continue reading Gone Shadows

Social Surveillance

The management company operating the co-op complex where I reside installed surveillance cameras inside what had been the residents’ private purviews. The courtyards. There, we have access to pools and barbecues.

While this address has always had cameras eyeballing our parking lot, whatever occurred on the patios remained unseen. Unseen, yes, though not unremarked upon. Continue reading Social Surveillance

A Broiling Pavement Tale

Met a woman who told me a Las Vegas story. It entwined her brother, a Big Mayberry resident. He once had a productive life here. During his living he got misled then completely lost himself. That happens in this city more frequently than autumn leaves falling off trees elsewhere. Continue reading A Broiling Pavement Tale

Chagrin and Bare It

Once, reporters wore the label of an “ink-stained wretch” as a badge of honor. Okay. At least a snarly backhanded compliment.

Now, with electronic media shrinking the importance of hard-copy print on the public mind, more and more of those purporting to be reporters weigh lighter anchors in their professed profession. Although a higher percentage of today’s byline bearers hold masters degrees, perhaps better preparatory might’ve been working on a factory assembly line. Continue reading Chagrin and Bare It