Category: Diary Drops
There’s a point in every Vegas resident’s life when you stop chasing the chaos and start observing it — like a zoologist at a rave. You realize the city isn’t trying to trick you.It’s just… honest in a way most places aren’t. It doesn’t care about your dreams.It just wants to know if you can…
Getting a job here was easy. Smiling for hours while slowly disassociating from my body like a ghost in a dealer uniform?Slightly harder. They say everyone in Vegas is selling something: time, attention, sequins, lies.I sold energy.The illusion of joy. “Hi there! Welcome in!”“What brings you to Vegas?”“Oh, we love a birthday queen!” Every sentence…
I used to think Las Vegas was fake. Not fake like the wigs or the silicone or the guy on Fremont selling “signed” photos of Elvis with a Sharpie still in his hand.I mean fake like soulless. Like someone slapped a glitter filter over a parking lot and dared you to believe it was paradise.…
Let’s set the scene: You slay. You strut. You sparkle so hard someone at Trader Joe’s actually drops their frozen mango mochi watching you walk by. You’re on top of the damn world — hair flawless, posture like a Greek statue, voice smooth, steps sharp, heart open. But then the next morning? You wake up…
