Who are these people? These faces! Where do they come from? They look like caricatures of used-car dealers from Dallas. But they’re real. And, sweet Jesus, there are a hell of a lot of them—still screaming around these desert-city crap tables at four-thirty on a Sunday morning.
I think this every time I travel through LAS airport, early some morning and there are normal looking freaks coming and going, all playing them damn slots.
