Coming straight off a two-day business conference (staying at the Flamingo), we headed up to the Greyhound station on West Bonneville Ave to catch a 5pm bus to Los Angeles. Yes, bus stations are the bane of our existence, but we were looking forward to the ride itself—a quiet seat in the back of the bus, looking out at the desert sunset, listening to Bob Dylan on our headphones. Can it get much better than that?
Apparently, it can. Around 8pm, as we pulled into Barstow for our 15-minute rest stop ("If you're getting Popeyes, order now because they take longer to make the food," counseled our friendly bus driver), the woman in front of us leaned across her husband and said to a neighboring passenger:
"You were beautiful even when you were sleeping. I just wanted you to know."
To which the girl, still half-asleep, responded, "Was I drooling?"
"No, but you're really beautiful. God bless you."
And that was that. It wasn't so much the words that affected us as the manner in which the exchange took place: quick, to the point, and without any hint of embarrassment. Meanwhile, as we sat processing what just happened, the rest of the bus filed out for their 15-minute snack.
So maybe there is some innate goodness circulating through Vegas. And for $39 (the cost of a one-way ticket), it's cheaper to come by than a ticket to see Rod Stewart.