I suppose I should write something profound about the duality of man (humankind) or the false glitter of Vegas barely covering the savagery with which the city seeks to skin it's visitors. I could note how there were garish casino slot machines in the terminals, perfect for that last stab at a windfall. The glaring lights and electronic - well it is hard to call it music - cacophony of noise, the robotic come-on, luring the bored, the desperate, the weak-minded. I'd be sure to note the signs by the slots reading, "Seats are for PLAYERS ONLY," and how they were mostly ignored by tired looking, still drunk but hungover travelers who were both sad and grateful to be leaving their adventure in sin city behind them.
In the midst of all this lies an airport terminal Starbucks. It is a small outpost of the great homogenized American corporate experiment. Here, amidst the coke-fueled greed and seedy sexuality, one can purchase a latte the same as back home. The very sameness and consistency of the coffee is reminder of the safe work-a-day routines of life.
Nah.
Yep! It's a Starbucks!
(I only stopped in here because I was on a flight with multiple legs and I thought it would be hilarious if I checked into places in three different states in a single day.)
They made me a decent latte.