Life is funny. One minute you’re enjoying dinner with a gorgeous redhead in Anaheim California and the next minute you’re waking up a week later in Las Vegas Nevada on damp pavement, in a graveyard for old signs. My body is bruised, my pants torn, and my shoes are missing. I reach into my pockets, in one pocket is a business card for “Hump-A-Granny”, and in the other pocket is a valet parking stub for MGM Grand Casino dated three days ago.
I catch a bus to the strip and retrieve my rental car. On the highway towards Henderson Nevada, I notice a new odour emanating from the car’s boot. Pulling into a Petrol Station, I discover a body-bag in the trunk. In the bag are about twenty thousand American dollars, forty-one empty cans of “Four Loko”, and a dead chicken. I trash the cans and the chicken, you know what they say; what dies in Vegas, stays in Vegas.