We left Sonoma in the late afternoon. We drove to Barstow and got a motel room for the night. Truly, a motel. This is atypical to how Raquel generally travels. There were addicts wandering the parking lot when we checked in. Barstow, et cetera.
We awoke early and finished the drive into Vegas. Or, Henderson. It doesn't sound as much like the vacation CS described when I relay the plain facts. So, we'll keep it Vegas, for the purpose of this weekend narrative. The truth has become more suburban along with us.
We left Barstow before sunrise and had fun finding where it would come up, precisely. Its presence made itself known in increments of color. It must have lasted more than an hour in the dark desert south of the city. You know as soon as you cross the state line into Nevada - miles before. There is a massive solar panel farm in the desert in California. Whiskey Pete's announces from some distance the change in state laws and attitudes. There is a roller coaster just across the border, also. Casinos. Everything about the construction of the place advertises a set of visual values. There are portions of the west that remain fascinating because they remain in existence.
Raquel and I smiled at the idea of brothels advertised while the boy slept in the back seat. I pictured her getting it on with a chick, but then forgot to tell her about it.
Now, we have landed at what will be our shelterment for a few days. Raquel and the boy now start their day of work and school. I will try to nap. I must. Try.