Woke up with hell ringing red, cracked bells in my ears, furry monsters using my tonsils for trampolines and foreshadowing deserts of thought, flat and hot in my mind, waving in the distance like unreachable oasis. Also, our mirror was satanic. I swear. Fogged after showers, it made one's own eyes look like pitiless halcyonic pits. And it was not the hangover. Zoo suggested I write out my goals for life. It was a good exercise, even if I didn't complete it at that point - it was important to start thinking about it in those terms.
Los Angeles had done me well.
Zoo drove the whole way to Vegas... I was in no shape to drive. Now is a good time to mention that he only drinks top-shelf tequila gimlets or shots and grande sugar-free vanilla mistos. I may be wrong about his exact coffee drink, but it's something like that. And, we made our Starbucks quota by stopping for his fuel often. I'm a Grande Mocha man, myself, but switched up and got some regular drip once in a while. Enough about coffee...
As previously mentioned, we drove out of LA northeast to Vegas through the Mojave desert. Stopped for Jack in the Box in Barstow. Mmmm. First time at the Jack. Got me a hangover-killing burger and crappy onion rings. Filled up on gas at 7-Eleven and drove on into the desert.
Wow... Outside of being in Vegas 17 times in my life, I've never been IN the desert. I was drooling. How fucking cool. Ow, my head...
Zoo telling me that he is surrounded by tarantula holes... getting skittish.
I brought five cameras with me, plus a battery-powered flash pack with a softbox and a tripod. What a getup. Glad I focused on enjoying the experience as opposed to actually using all of that gear... (hehe).
