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Las Vegas

The freeway sounds like a rolling train. Something is whining over it, a high pitched grind, perhaps a plane or a helicopter. It rises to a migraine roar and fades as a jumbo climbs away. A bad-bearing whistle crosses from left to right under the canopied entrance to the lobby. Another plane grinds into the aftershocks of the first. A siren honks. Honks again. The incoming plane sounds like the long plaintive roar of some great sea beast that I cannot quite call to mind, perhaps a sea lion, perhaps a whale. A two engined jet rises impatiently almost as the other drops behind the low-rises, or perhaps it is my mind, stalling between instances of sound. The rising jet has more of a whistle than the 747. The sound wavers as is it cuts through layers of wind and turbulence, like someone playing with an ancient volume control. Yet another plane rises, this time like a woodsaw. A bird chirrups and cheeps in a moment of quiet. A distant dog barks insanely at the silence. Another bird phirps in the palm trees. The machine starts up again like an old and broken machine. Cars. Planes. Helicopters.

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