A middle-aged businessman, dressed accordingly, at lunchtime does not enjoy the presence of his wife. He does not appreciate her neon green footies, worn with black patent-leather loafers. He doesn’t think much of her tie-dye yoga pants, which ride up above her ankles. He does not go in for her emerald green velour pullover. They sat on stools at the wine bar inside the restaurant on a workday afternoon.

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“Wallpaper to ashes to sky / sunrise to necklace to embrace / we are running our hands through our hair…” -Kevin Weisner, from a poem called “Memoire,” published by the Berkeley Poetry Review in 1992, Issue 26.

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From miles away, downtown Vegas looked like a smoker’s lounge.