In the dusty-pink morning, I tiptoe across the freshly-washed pool deck, dragging a lounge chair to the edge of the chilly hotel shadow. I stretch out on the cool cushions, kick off my flip-flops and lean back…sipping my super-big, extra-shots, lotsa-foam, Cappu-salvation.
The strip is deliciously quiet…the inexperienced, the hungover and the lucky all tucked away in bed, and the sinners buried somewhere in the desert. The only sounds are muffled traffic from the strip, and light music coming from hidden speakers…a quiet respite from the “chang-chang” of slot machines and shrieks of joy from “Big Winners”.
As the sun creeps over the 37th floor, I become a vampire and pull my feet back from the rays, eventually tucking my legs up underneath me. I finally stand up to drag my chair further back.
I am now, of course, exhausted. I nap until the 400-foot building can no longer hold back the sun. I stand and stretch, and before I turn back, I catch a glimpse of dancing fountains across the street, the water murmuring promises of an afternoon filled with buffets, gelato, and Elvis sightings.
There’s something very special about Day 3 in Vegas.