Friday, February 15, 2008

Let me call you .... sweetheart?

Valentine's Day is often a big day in Las Vegas, with all the wedding chapels and the quick marriage license service and all. (Not so much this year, unfortunately, but historically that's true.) But Love Day didn't start out quite so swimmingly for one couple I ran into not far from the marriage license office.

Cory was skulking down Bridger Avenue, trying to shrink his lanky frame into a baggy Green Bay Packers jacket. His squat, blonde girlfriend was half a block behind him, screaming like a banshee and making sure everybody knew what a fuckup Cory was.

"The next time you need money," she yelled, "it's going to be, 'Fuck You!' "

She repeated it to make sure he got the point. "That's it. I'm done," she continued, while still following him. "I'm not carrying your keys, either!"

Cory kept walking, so she kept carrying his keys. At Fourth and Bridger he turned right, probably on his way to a Fremont Street casino for a much-needed (though maybe not deserved) drink. The lady screamed something at Cory about the hotel, even though he was two blocks away by then. She went left — and into the lobby of a Bank of America branch.

Now, this is pure speculation, but I like to think she was pulling out money for a marriage license, which is $55, cash only. The idea has a compelling symmetry to it. A couple's in town for Valentine's Day, on their way to the chapel, and they can't make it two blocks without screaming, skulking and going their separate ways.

That's my kind of Valentine.

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