Courthouse Shooting...Part II, Rest of the Story

(Photo by Sylvain GRANDADAM/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images)

Got off on the wrong foot yesterday... I slept in a half hour later than I had planned to.  I had wanted to leave more than enough time to drive to downtown Las Vegas so I would be able to find parking and get to the Courthouse in plenty of time to report for Jury Duty.  Knowing the frustration I so often encounter with Vegas traffic, the frustration I have with my total lack of direction, and the frustration I have with being a relative invalid with my "recent" shattered heel that left me a bit impaired, I'd contemplated arriving the night before and just standing outside till the doors opened in the morning.  But, hey, this IS Vegas... I am well aware of the fact.  So I left half an hour later than I had intended.  A silly 30 minutes.

Ever wondered, "what if?"  For Christmas I bought my son-in-law a book that pursues that concept with the events of history.  I wondered a bit about the here and now possibilities as the day wore on and I was enmeshed in the aftermath of  shooting.  Had things gone as planned, I would have arrived at Court yesterday 30 silly minutes earlier--- in time to be on the scene as the gunman opened fire

In my mind's eye, I see myself jumping in front of him, holding out my hand and firmly telling him to give me the gun.  Immediately he acquiesces and no one is hurt! Tenderly I tell him everything will be ok now.  Having spontaneously intervened in a handful of violent physical episodes in my life (a rape, a knife fight, domestic confrontations) with no bruises and surprisingly good results, I figure this was a scenario meant to be.  Yes, I am certifiably more stupid than fearless, and I have been plain lucky.  But my imagination has to concede to the reality that my feet of clay (or my dedication to sleep), have led to this other bizarre outcome instead.  Under my breath, I excoriate my lapse.  Coulda, woulda, shoulda.  My theme song.

Then again, who's to say what is real and what is not?  As I was finally able to leave the surreality of the crime scene area yesterday, I was forced to wend my way through streets that were not cordoned off.  Bonneville was the name of the street that I followed for several blocks and where I encountered the underbelly of Vegas society.  

And then I saw him.  Elvis.  In white bell bottoms, shirt, and cape.  Bejeweled with glittering red orange chains and embellishments, the trademark black pompadour and dark glasses.  The black fanny pack?  Hmmmm.  Much, much shorter than I ever remembered him and a lot less appealing, nevertheless there he was in the flesh.  What else?

The reality is this is Vegas, this is life, this is death, and beyond.  All improv.  The good, the bad, the bizarre.  All of this just is.  And so it goes.  Viva Las Vegas.  Bring your camera.