November 9: Nevada

Nevada is concrete bunkers. It is ridiculous hotels and plastic realities. It is piercingly hot deserts with alien creatures and it is air-conditioned 24 hour buffets.

Nevada is listening to the Grateful Dead lying on your bed flipping through the letters I wrote to you, saved in a cardboard box. It is rereading all my words, like a proto-blog, and feeling guilty that I haven't saved all of yours.

 Nevada is learning that wishing for something doesn't make it so, and that timing can sometimes be everything.

Nevada is decisions made.

Nevada is a casino. In some ways it is Schrodinger's cat simulation. Nevada both is and isn't at the same time. We are both winners and losers. We are together and alone. We are hello and goodbye.