After the ground level grit and mania of Mexico and a surreal plane ride that involved a brief interfacing with Houston, an upgrade to first class for ‘cuteness’, seated beside a man called Mr Goose who insisted on delivering me to Circus Circus in a limousine, what struck me as most disturbing about Las Vegas was the water usage. I’d just come from where people were getting sick from unfiltered water being sold in bottles scavenged from rubbish tips, and was now standing in front of the Bellagio fountain fed from the pristine Colorado snow. Lee Greenwood’s ‘Im proud to be an American citizen’ blared out and people stopped walking and placed their hands over their hearts.
Years later, returning to LV for Rollercon from a land gripped by drought, where farmers walked off their land and their cattle died in desperate piles of skin and bone under the few remaining trees, I found myself at the Bellagio fountain again. It seemed like some kind of violation of that which is common in all of us, our 80% water.