Just The Minimum

Las Vegas. Slot machines, Russian Roulette, Poker. Casinos full of drunk people with strip clubs just a few minutes away. My dad hated this place. He'd never even been there and he hated it; the well brought-up, goody-two-shoes man that he was. He said this place was for the boys and girls. I think my dad may have been born a man. 

So as I entered the Casino this evening I decided to get drunk and push my luck. I didn't. Instead I sat at the bar sipping a martini - shaken, not stirred - and talked with a man in a sleek, expensive tailored suit. Now that suit's scattered on the floor, and the well-composed gentleman, William, or "call me Will", is on my hotel bed fast asleep. 

I don't know what came over me. An adrenaline rush, an unstoppable urge to do something... wrong. It was amazing. Remind me, when I retire, if I live that long, I'm settling in Las Vegas. 

At three I've got to meet Uncle Henry. Yes, my father's brother. They may share similar genetic make-up but they're, or were, quite the opposites. Uncle Henry lives in the city of casinos for one, and he lived, and which is the reason why he still does, live life. My dad just lived and just died. Nothing more. The bare minimum. 

He taught me to live that way too. 

The End

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