15 Hours in Paradise

A layover in Vegas

Photo Credit: Robert Stark, @2020blackstone

This is a Carousel guest piece by Matthew Pegas

15:00

I hit Fremont Street and the magical thinking starts right away. We’re all chaos magicians in Las Vegas, trying to draw order from randomness and spin silver dollars from black bile. I’m on a 15-hour layover between Los Angeles and Philadelphia on the way home for Thanksgiving: next flight not until 1am. I just Ubered to this side of town from Harry Reid International Airport, baptized into Vegas energy by the slot machines in the terminal and a driver who looked like a stripper on her second career. It’s a brisk, blue-skied November day, and I’m alone and feeling lucky.

I accidentally arrive at the Neon Museum two hours before it opens, so instead I beeline back a mile of drive-over sprawl and pass under the highway to Fremont Street. I’m heading to the El Cortez, one of the oldest casinos in Vegas dating back to 1941, and my favorite for gambling. Gambling: not exactly a problem, but I’ve g…