five minutes at mccarran international airport, thursday, june 7, sometime between 6:45 and 7:15 p.m.

1.  pedal pushers are in this year for a certain subset of the female population. also: saw a mother and daughter, both of a certain age, dressed exactly alike in black t-shirts and khaki pedal pushers. i thought it was sweet.

2. enjoyed one of those “giant” chocolate chip cookies that cost $2.99 at hudson news.

3.  i love human beings; the handsome business man, in a suit with the knot of his tie pulled down and the neck button open (just a peek of chest hair),  texting and wheeling a carry-on, the exotic dancer (i presume), the skinny woman in the too tall platform shoes, the man with the eczema on his legs–some of it bandaged–some of it covered in vaseline and that he stopped to pull up his shorts right in front of me as if i were the wall in the men’s room, the girl with the soccer ball-sized plush animal in a black mesh bag, the 7 (at least) muscular asian men with their big pecs and short piano legs (those calves!), everyone in sandals, the cowboy in the ostrich boots with crepe soles, the goths (i know, still?), the nicky minaj wanna-bes, the people with their cat in a carry-on (who takes their cat to vegas?), the people with lap dogs, the old woman i tried to direct to the ladies room, and her companion who said to me after her friend walked away, “i knew she was hard of hearing, but i didn’t know she was blind.”

4.  was reminded that i stood on the top of one of the towers of notre dame in paris, and told a 12 year old girl about the hunchback of notre dame and his love for esmeralda. she didn’t care about victor hugo, but she and i did love the thrill of being up that high overlooking all of paris…and that my arms and legs work, that i am in good health, that i am able to walk, talk, hear, see, feel, smell; that people don’t stare at me because of how i walk, talk, hear, see, feel, smell; that there are mothers and sons who love each other even though people are staring at them, in fact they love each other so much that the rest of the world fades away and a man as crippled as the son manages to skip (sidle like a crab, actually) up to his mother and both of them laugh; that that kind of love exists makes me happy.

5.  i made a mental note to never wear shorts with black socks and oxfords, but if i ever do to make sure i own it; the “fuck you, it’s vegas, who will ever remember me?” look.

i will.


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© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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