Kenny is a diligent swimmer. Every day, he is in the lane next to mine, swimming the butterfly. He is a musician, and plays the keyboard at the Stratosphere Tower lounge. He is my age, tall, and athletic. I like him.
Kenny and the band were playing mellow jazz. I collected a gin-tonic, and strolled along the circular walkway. Las Vegas glittered a thousand feet below. A decade ago, a rising tide of speculation, expanded the city all the way to the surrounding mountains. Then, the tide turned and left behind human debris and listless neighborhoods. I know; I could almost see my house, far in the North-East fringe. Treasure, the pretty lead singer, opened with a Bob Marley song, and I sat down. Her voice was like aged Mezcal, clear, yet smooth. When the set ended, I heard Kenny's story.
Four years ago, lured by job opportunities in the thriving casinos, Kenny came to Vegas. Before he landed his first job, the bubble burst, and the casinos were firing, not hiring. For four years he could not find work. He "even" looked for a day job, but without success. Just a couple of months ago, he got this gig at the Stratosphere. He thinks business is beginning to pick up. For Kenny's sake, and as a property owner, I hope his fortune turns out to be a leading economic indicator. The popular Case-Shiller index is still pointing down, but it has a systemic delay of two months.
Treasure, returned to the stage and rendered a fresh version of Hotel California. I sang along softly. After a few more oldies, I waved goodbye. Treasure blew me a kiss. 'She is cute.'
