Las Vegas and killer heels

“i fell on boobie cards!” wailed a girl with mascara running down her face and bloodied knees. she carried her spiked heels in one hand while the other tried to wipe her face.
it was 3 in the morning and we were walking along Las Vegas Boulevard and taking in the sights.
one after the other, we watched as pretty young girls hobbled on their platforms or simply took the wretched things off and walked bare foot along the dirty strip.
i told myself i never would visit this place, that it was just too cheestastic for me and that i didn’t need to go there to see people in heat. but here we are. and it was fun. the city, i discovered was nothing and everything like what i had imagined.
and as another girl screamed out at the top of her lungs, “my feet hurt!” with every step she took, i realized, i’m glad i came.
the thick blanket of smoke that i am so not accustomed to in california was the first assault on our arrival but was shortly forgotten with what seemed to be a heavy disappointment of the strip.
granted, it was day time and we were at the airport. the stretch of road where “sin city” was born seemed tired and dusty and all in all, drab.
where were the colors and lights that i have been dished throughout the years and the only real reason i even agreed to this journey?
when we got to the hotel, i felt bad being the downer in the group, admitting that my fantasy of what vegas was supposed to be, supposed to look like was all but a tired prostitute. but i digress …