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Used to go to conventions in Vegas several times a year for about 5 years. Because of a lack of budget (I worked for a tiny, little publisher), we were never able to get a car. Functionally, it meant I was never able to stray too far from the strip. By the end of the trip my brain, feet and soul would be sore. I would see flashing lights in the periphery of my vision when I went to sleep. The sad, ubiquitous, baseball-card-like prostitute cards that littered the sidewalks didn't even touch me. I was always happy to go home, and grew to despise Vegas. I've heard that there are nice things about the city. Everyone tells me, if you go off the strip, there are fun and interesting things to do. My boss once took me off the strip to a place called Chicago Joe's that had good sauce, but was next to a ramshackle, single-floor tenement that just made me depressed. Don't get me wrong. I know there's more to the city. I only saw a portion of it. But so much of it made me angry or depressed, I have no desire to check out the rest. It's a great city for irony, though. You can be truly ironic in Vegas.
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