I stepped onto Market Street at 11:30 with the intent of buying shoes and packing.  I somehow completed both in under two hours.  Two spare lenses, two pieces of bedding, two sets of spare clothing, and two toothbrushes, proving that I had made a poor inventory.  Two bags, two light sources and too much time that had passed since I had experienced “elsewhere”.  My inventory for the trip was simple but the inventory for myself was less obvious.   My physical abilities were a shadow.   This time last year I was prepping for a half marathon.  This year I was struggling to finish a 5k.  The shoes on my feet felt beyond me being “Moab Desert Hikers”.  I was maybe worth Crocs.  My emotional state wasn’t what I wished it had been.  “Micro USB cable” never made it onto my check list leaving me stuck for charge until I touched down in Vegas and I was sweating the whole time.  The cabin of the airplane seemed cramped and I started softly sobbing when two kids started crying after we had taken off.

Then I looked around the cabin at the sacred cattle of humanity and started to calm down.  Nothing from Philadelphia could bother me here; I could edit photos, and I did; I could nod off, and I did; and I could chew on things.  The fellow next to me saw me editing photos and struck up a conversation.  He said “within 10 years the photographer will be dead”.  By the time I landed I had myself an enemy and couldn’t have been happier.  We traded numbers and I wandered to my hotel, hoping to never see him again.  The night was bring with opportunity, appropriate for Vegas.

The Excalibur was the cheapest place to stay so there I did.  I laid out my things on the other twin bed for no reason, I was leaving the next morning.