Friday the 13th. The day of bad luck. This whole blog is centred on the notion of risk, colloquially referred to as “luck”. I found it intriguing to read Jeffrey St. Clair’s piece “Field Notes From a Mirage”…

  • “Over the course of the last 30 years, Vegas has been transformed from Sin City to a family theme park to an unapologetic advertisement for boundless gluttony. You can thank Steve Wynn for this grotesque metamorphosis…Wynn was going to name his hotel ‘Le Reve’, but instead put his own name on it and titled the resident Cirque de Soleil show by that name instead… But the dream is coming to an end. A reckoning is fast approaching. The water is running out. Today 90 percent of the city’s water is sucked from Lake Mead and Lake Mead is drying up. The latest forecasts predict the once vast reservoir may be completely tapped out by 2021. Count ‘em: That’s seven years. After that, all bets are off. No water tunnels or emergency pipelines can possibly compensate for the shortage. Vegas’s days are numbered. Deal with it, baby… His company performs a macabre service. They fish out the bodies of the jumpers: Vegas’s losers, the victims of the gaming tables, the aging strippers and hookers, the dead-enders, those who have maxed out, those who have reached their last threshold and take a leap off the new Pat Tillman Memorial Bridge, sky diving into the Colorado River, 840 feet below. ‘We snag four or five bodies a month,’ he tells me, as he tosses back his third Jack and Coke of the afternoon. ‘Vegas is still a hard town. Eventually your luck is going to run dry. Know what I mean?

America’s own city of dreams, Las Vegas, also bears the harsh lesson about the death of dreams. Better the dreams die than the dreamer.

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