It’s astonishing to me that you can be driving through a place that, if it’s not as hot as hell, comes pretty close. With negligible civilization for hundreds of miles.

Then suddenly, springing forth from the same miserable terrain  is …

Paris. And who doesn’t love Paris?

View from room at Paris Las Vegas

Le, la — I could never get my French pronouns right —  Tour Eiffel.

L’Arc de Triomphe …

and the Rue de la Paix.

All in the same faux-cobblestone neighborhood at the Paris Las Vegas that was so slippery, I’m actually glad I had my dorke’ running shoes on instead of the dressy wedges I’d planned . Sure as merde,  I would have fallen and broken my derriere. Having broken both wrists in two separate accidents (another post — I’m making a list of future posts), who needed that?

Paris is all about fashion; seeing and being seen; and creating a scene…

Frederick’s of Las Vegas.

And sophisticated French fare.

And financiers.

I was ready to roll up my sleeves and mingle with the high rollers of Seine City. Prior to this undertaking, I’d never lost at the slots. My lifetime winnings were about, lessee, umm, $36.14.

The meter started ticking as soon as I went to the ATM machine. The fee to withdraw cash cost almost $5, which was what I was prepared to spend on the slots. So that meant I was already down to about 84 cents.

Since I looked lost, a nice couple from Atlanta pointed me over to a bunch of machines. Said they had big payouts in the past. What the heck. Showed me the strategy to investing my vast fortune of $5 in quarters. I could bet on as much as three times the value of each quarter. (Drum roll here.) I played it strategically, one quarter at a time.

It took a mere 20 minutes to lose it all. At one point, I was up to $10, but, in an uncharacteristic move, didn’t quit while I was ahead.

I’ll admit I got a thrill out of hitting little jackpots here and there, but didn’t feel confortable investing any more. When I later looked up the odds of winning anything substantial, the answer seemed to be — better than I thought. Best I could gather from this source  that seemed most scientific is that the law has some say over machine payouts.

Whatever. Guess it just wasn’t my day. And the other patrons, butts glued to the seats, eyes fixed on the screens, must have been having much better luck.

Word from my sponsor at this juncture: I was sporting my T-shirt advertising Mitch’s legal services — he specializes in bankruptcy; just in case anyone happened to need some advice. Granted, he works in Pennsylvania, not Nevada, but still … no takers.

It’s their money; and it’s none of my business. I realize that.

If I’d quit after upping my earnings to $10, I would have had enough to buy that $10 breakfast crepe. It sure looked nice, but  tasted as plastic as the plate.

I’m not sure the food at “Le Village Buffet” across the way was any better, but it was so popular, it had an express lane.

Yep, the only Left Bank here was Wells Fargo.

There were a few hotel shops that looked interesting, but I didn’t have the time, the money or the inclination. If I really wanted something from Paris, I’d get it from the real one, not a movie set.

But that’s just me.

So I said A bientot as I pulled out of self-park, and headed west again toward San Diego.

Would I go to Vegas again? Nah; it’s not my thing.

But did I have fun? You betcha.