Las Vegas: " A Lonely Breeze."

Essay by keller5327University, Bachelor'sA+, November 2005

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Everything has a life. Every inanimate object posses a feel about it; a purpose of being something more than they seem. You know like when you're in the forest alone by yourself and night is casting her cloak about the world. Your pulse starts to pick up; tiny jackhammers start pounding along the inside of your veins. You begin to get scared because there is a feel about the forest now. Why? What is it that has the hairs on the back of your neck rigid with fear? What of man though and the things he has created? What of the vast concrete jungles that he has erected across the face of the Earth? Are cities and townships just a gathering of human life? An unaware jumble of concrete architectures, cut into tiny, little manageable grid-squares by roads, much like a child divides up an insurmountable dinner into conquerable parts.

No, of course not. A city lives and it breathes. It sees all, feels all, and knows all inside its boundaries. While some parts are joyous and gay ringing with children's laughter and hope is prevalent, others exude a life all their own that is dark and deadly. One such place is Fremont St, a part of Las Vegas yet separate unto herself, where a lonely breeze blows.

Lights, especially neon lights measure the vibrant pulse of Las Vegas. For a city that never sleeps they are ever important providing an alluring presence, promising good times and fortunes. Fremont is no different, except here the lights are hard and brittle. The absence of light pools in dark and forbidding areas and is a promised breeding ground for the nightmares from childhood. In the light a hard lesson is learned. Take what you can get. Even though the light is artificial...