There’s something about the glowing bulbs and 1,500 foot long TV screen of Fremont Street that summons the mentally unstable. I’m not referring to those who chose to queue for three hours to hurl themselves down a zip line. Nor those who eat at Heart Attack Grill under threat of spanking if they fail to finish the mountain of food served to them. No. Fremont street is home to an old man covered in Mardi Gras beads heading banging along to Barracuda without a care in the world. There’s the guy holding a sign advertising his ‘services’ , give him five dollars and he’ll let you kick him in the nuts, if he falls you keep your money…..
I should however clarify that the crazy isn’t restricted exclusively to Fremont Street, it seeps into most corners of Las Vegas. It manifests in many forms, there’s the zombies who sit at the one armed bandits all day with vacant expressions across their faces, the only sign of life being the occasional arm movement to press flashing buttons.
There’s the religious fanatics, who bear signs condemning all passers by. When these people shout at you, “you’re going to hell,” I suggest your response be, “no I’m going to the Bellagio!” The look of indignation on their faces is pretty adorable to behold.
My personal favourite has to be the tiny old tour guide running, and boy do I mean running, all over Vegas. His unfortunate and out of breath customers trying desperately to following the mans little green flag as it skates aggressively through the masses of the Vegas strip.
So perhaps ‘crazy’ is the wrong word, I just can’t imagine these people fitting in anywhere better than The City of Lights.
…also there’s something about Las Vegas toilets that seems to give everybody the sniffles. Every cubicle I went in I could hear women snorting….hhmmm….;)