The is a sort of mindless joy to wandering thru a casino fairly drunk on your butt.
Reno, Nevada is not Las Vegas, but it plays by the same rules.
And no, I am not talking about the whole “What happens in…” nonesense.
I am talking about drinking.
There is nothing a casino loves more than a drunk.
Because drunks gamble.
Even people who don’t gamble, will gamble when drunk.
Perfect example? Me.
I don’t gamble. Ever. Not a dime. Long story, but I don’t.
And I am down $50 bucks.
See what I mean?
But the drinks are so cheap!
You can go to any bar in one of the beach cities of Southern California and getting drunk can be near a hundred dollars.
In the casino? Less than $20 dollars.
But, not being a gambler despite my sidestep into the world of video poker, I don’t want to be in a casino.
So lets go out.
Some of the most viewed posts that were the most fun to write have been concerning the homeless.
So I decide to check out the local talent.
Now, the wisdom of loading up on WILDLY low priced Mexican beer prior to going out to observe the homeless, is a poorly thought out one at best.
But these things happen.
I head out with only a mild stagger going on, with a 64 ounce Sands Regency change cup filled with Pabst Blue Ribbon. A shitty beer, but the only one they will serve in a change cup.
A $20 tip is well respected in the bartending industry.
So that is the setting as I head out to find a new friend.
I head out of the hotel/casino complex and take a right, away from the strip and down the block that gets ugly once the casino property ends.
And it doesn’t take long.
“Pick up your CROSS and follow ME!”
Even with loud downtown Reno traffic, this man’s voice cuts thru the noice.
Let me paint you a picture.
The pants are made for a 500 pound man, but they were hemmed with a butcher knife and held up with that same 500 pound man’s belt, with a full foot of excess belt hanging off.
A grey Sun Devils hoodie, over a pendleton, over two tshirts, in hundred degree weather.
Its important not to be caught out in the cold.
And a 3 foot, dark lacquered wooden cross.
Marching down the middle of the street, cross held out in front of him like a standard bearer.
And maybe he is.
I got him out of the street and decided we needed some coffee.
It was a REALLY interesting walk 4 blocks to the Starbucks.
Joe for Jesus, as he only will refer to himself, often in the third person, is ALL ABOUT Jesus.
And Jesus HATES meth. (Direct quote)
Joe for Jesus has a serious obligation to spread the word.
Nice guy, but meth has just destroyed independent thought for him.
Religion is one of those things that can fill the void for a guy like this.
TOTALLY necessary in this case.
Joe for Jesus is fairly harmless, but like Hunter Thompson said, never turn your back on a drug.
Starbucks, however, is less than thrilled to see us.
I get us coffee and these delightful mini cherry pies, and take Joe for Jesus out to the patio in an attempt to tone it down.
The manager is looking jumpy as hell.
All hell broke loose when Joe for Jesus climbed up on his chair to preach loudly and flail about with his wooden cross.
Two police cars arrive soon after.
I have ditched the change cup of beer prior to this, but I am certainly in no condition to talk to the police.
The Reno police have no sense of humor in this kind of heat.
Joe for Jesus is apparently well known by the local cops.
They talk him talk down from the chair, into the back of the cop car and leave.
I have a somewhat awkward conversation with the remaining officers which does not go as well as I had hoped.
The back seat of a Crown Victoria is plush, as far as huge sedans go.
I begin to go over the financial who’s who of my friends and family in my head.
However, as I am without handcuffs and have not had my Miranda rights read to me, I am wondering if bail is different here as well.
And then we pull up at my hotel.
I am admonished not to leave the hotel.
I had forgotten the one cardinal rule of Reno/Vegas.
Reno loves a drunk.
I love Reno.
LIKE THE BLOG, FOLLOW THE BLOG, LOVE THE BLOG!!!