The city lights of Vegas stream by like one of those slow-motion pictures sold at all the tourist traps. Huxley slows the car and turns to the right when I point out the driveway to the apartment complex. One building down, at the end of a short little hallway, I shared a one-bedroom apartment with Archer.
It feels weird being back. Like my past and present are colliding and there's nothing I can do to get out of the way. I have to brace for impact and hope no one walks away with a broken bone or worse — a broken heart.
The sky is dark and many of the apartment lights have shut off for the evening. This end of the city away from the strip feels weird as well. There are no bright glowing lights and nobody is pumping in the sounds of coins hitting on slot machine trays. They moved to audio
