I started walking down the strip, taking it all in and checking out each hotel I passed, the Mirage with its white tigers and volcano, Caesar’s Palace and the Forum, the Bellagio in all its luxury, the Monte Carlo, New York, New York, with a roller coaster outside and its casino in the middle of Mott Street, and when I looked at my watch it was 2 a.m. and I had only done part of one side of the street. I caught a cab back to the Treasure Island to see if the sidewalk traffic was gone by that time of night and if I would have the lagoon to myself when I went for my swim. There were still people on the sidewalk all the way down the strip to the lagoon, although not very many, and it looked like I would be lucky to get in and out without becoming another tourist attraction. I added an hour to my projected splashdown, making it 3 a.m., and walked across the street and back to the Barbary Coast to get some sleep.

I looked out the window of my room at the strip below. It was now almost 3 a.m. and there were people everywhere. Frank Sinatra had it all wrong. New York was not the city that never sleeps, Vegas was. He should have known better. He spent enough time here. I closed the drapes and hit the sack. Ah, a comfortable mattress. Mary was right. It was a nice hotel and the price was right. I didn’t know about the tables, they must make their money somewhere. I thought about getting back up and trying my luck but I was asleep before the thought was finished.