"My insurance more than doubled when I moved out here," I say to her. "The agent told me that this zip code, 89109, is the number two zip code in the country for stolen cars."
"That's absolutely right," the lady answers. "I've been living in these apartments for eight years now, and I have had two stolen from me. You're not considered a full resident until you come outside and find your car missing."
"Wow," I exclaim.
The lady, probably in her 50s, is thin but fast becoming frail. She wears a long brown dress made out of light material. Tiny dark sunglasses hide her eyes. She also has a small, long haired dog of some sort which looks like it could use a good grooming. The woman came up to me as I work to get a bright orange sticker off of the driver side window on my car. Evidently, I parked in someone's assigned space last night, and this sticker is the warning/punishment for it. I did not realize that my own apartment does not include an assigned space, and that I have to park my mustang out on the street. I have moved my car out onto Las Palmas Avenue, now, to work on getting this sticker off, though I dislike having to park here. The cars on this street are most susceptible to being damaged or stolen, as I have already observed after living here for less than a week. One of the first things that I did after moving in was make a trip to an auto parts store and buy "The Club" for my steering wheel.
As I work on the sticker, I think to myself, jeeze, they did not have to make it out of this paper material, though. It is impossible just to peel off with my fingers. I have to wet it, and now I am using my Swiss army knife and my windshield scraper to get the sticker off, a little bit of wet paper at a time.
"So where did you come from?" The lady asks.
"North Carolina," I answer.
"Are you married?" She asks.
"Nope." I give a half glance back at her and force a smile.
"So you just came out here by yourself with no children, no family?"
"That's right," I say.
The lady seems nice enough, but even with my back turned to her, I can sense the loneliness pouring out of her body. She wants something from me. Most likely it is only companionship. I have just arrived in the city, though. I need to find a job. Getting to know her is not on my priority list right now.
As the days and weeks pass, I will see her quite often. She always seems to be walking her dog anytime I head out to my car, and I wonder if she is watching my apartment to see when I come outside.
***
The apartments where I live are only a couple of blocks east of the strip, or Las Vegas Boulevard. One of the bus drivers in the city told me that I should not live east of the strip, that "East of the strip is sh*t."
He is right, but east of the strip is also cheap, which is what I need until I get established here and begin to work my way up in the city.
The view off my back balcony is actually very nice. I can see a couple of the casinos- the Flamingo and the Imperial Palace. If I am home at sunset, I will go out on the balcony and watch as the sun goes down and the neon lights to the casinos turn on.
My apartment is on the third floor, the top floor of this complex. An alley runs along the back, and at night some interesting things happen down below. People rarely think to look up, and so most of the time they do not know that anyone is watching them.
Drug use is the main activity that I observe in the back alley, though on one night I also witness some sad qualities of human nature which I will not repeat here- of people living on the edge with little self esteem and nothing much to lose.
The behaviors of the night are not confined to the back alley of my apartment, and not confined to the night, either- not in Las Vegas.
"Give me my money, Bill!" I hear a woman screaming one night at around 3 a.m., almost directly in front of my door. It annoys me because she wakes me up when I have be at work in just a few hours. She does not sound like she is in danger, so I let it go and try to get back to sleep. She continues to yell, though.
"I'm not leaving until you give me my money! Give me my money, Bill! GIVE ME MY MONEY!"
I can not hear what Bill is saying to her. It is muffled. I guess he eventually gives her the money, though, as she quiets down.
On a couple of other occasions, women knock on my door in the middle of the day to ask me if I want a girlfriend. I feel pity for them rather than attraction. The first girl can not control her shaking and trembling from what I guess is withdrawal. She keeps scratching her face to the point where there are marks on her cheek.
The second woman is nearly in tears when she asks if she can stay with me, that people are after her. Her eyes are yellow, and she lifts up her shirt to show me that she is several months pregnant.
Late one night, a guy knocks on my door. He holds a box of various electronic equipment and asks if I want to buy any. I tell him no, but I watch his eyes scan my apartment for what stuff I have in here and who else might be living with me.
After his visit, I keep my blinds closed all the time, so that if someone is going to break into my apartment, they will at least have to guess if I am inside, waiting with perhaps a gun.
Despite these rough experiences, I am surprised at the number of beautiful ladies who seem to wander through the apartment complex as well.
A blond woman with one of the most incredible bodies that I have ever seen is just randomly walking down the sidewalk outside my apartment as I get into my car one day. I cannot help but stare at her, and I do not care that she sees me staring. She gives me a confident smirk, but keeps on walking... If only I could think of something to say...
The guy who lives next to me, "Bill," I suppose, though I have never met him and do not really care to, keeps me amused with the women who come and go from his apartment. Some are in the condition of the two women who knocked on my door, others are at the other end of the spectrum, virtual goddesses- only with very hard eyes.
Another time, a cute brunette is wandering around early on a Sunday morning before I go for a jog. Something is wrong with her. She walks very close to me as I do a few stretches, but I do not think she realizes I am there. Her stare is vacant, though she has a slight smile on her face. She wears a pretty white dress, but her feet are bare and bloodied.
I enjoy running in the heat, and I can feel the desert sun already beginning to beat down on me this early in the morning before I even start. The girl's dark brown hair is wet with sweat, and I know that she will soon become dehydrated. She seems oblivious to all this, though. I consider going back up to my apartment to get my cell phone and call the police about her. She is gone after a few seconds, though, disappearing down the alleys and streets of the neighborhood.
***
It has been a long day at the dealership. I need some food after we close down at 10pm on this Saturday night, and it has been a while since I treated myself to a nice meal. I drive to Old Town Las Vegas and walk around for an hour or so on Fremont Street. When the time passes midnight, I duck into the sports diner across from the Plaza Hotel and Casino. The diner has a steak and egg special for $3.99 after midnight. It is delicious. I order two plates instead of just one, putting A1 sauce on both my steak and my eggs. I am a night owl, and one of the things I love about this city is that I can do almost whatever I want, whenever I want here.
When I finally pull into my apartment complex, it is nearly 2 a.m. I still have on my dress clothes from work as I head up the three flights of stairs to my apartment.
As I start to climb, I see a woman at the very top of the stairs beginning to come down. She has poofy blond hair and impressive curves. I think that she must be another one of "Bill's" visitors.
Though I am tired from the day, I am also a bit lonely, so I look forward to at least speaking to her.
She keeps her eyes lowered as we pass on the second flight, so I take the initiative.
"Hello, how are you doing?" I say in the friendliest voice that I can manage.
She stops and looks at me with inviting interest.
"Hi, I'm fabulous. How are you?" she answers in a somewhat deeper voice than I expected. Then I see it. The five o'clock shadow on the face and the prominent adam's apple. Though wearing very high heels, her legs have hair on them.
Good god.
Shocked into acting on instinct now, I answer with a terse, "Pretty good." I look away from him/her and keep moving up the stairs.
Once I have locked myself in my apartment. I take off my dress shirt, pants and socks and collapse on my bed.
Looking up at the ceiling, I can not help but laugh. I wish I had more money to enjoy this city and perhaps even help some of these people out, but that is everyone's constant complaint. I fully appreciate that life is more interesting and wild for me now than it has ever been, and I am glad to be living in Las Vegas.
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