Beyond the steep Eastern Sierra and past the Nevada state line, lies the gambling city of Reno, ‘Biggest little city in the world’, but they call it gaming.
I’m staying at Motel 6, a long walk to the tall buildings, and nothing paleo to eat except a carrot and two Lar-a-Bars.
Few tourists, no crowds, no music. It looks like South Lake Tahoe on ‘roids and equally cold and sterile.
Reasonable $60 for the clean room with views and sounds of all I-80 lanes. I’ll sleep anyway after all this walking; and earplugs.
Fantastic fascistic architecture to humble and exalt us in thrall to the dollar. Lot of failure too though.
Always boom-and-bust, Renoites apparently are not even bowling alone anymore, you’d think.
But you’d be wrong: the National Bowling Stadium.
For some reason this patch of sere high desert is urban.
Two miles back to my Motel 6, one of several Motel 6’s in town, my cabbie said; $8.75, $15 with tip, my dogs was barking. A clean new Yellow minivan.
I’d thought to pick up a show but now I’m tired and casinos are so depressing. Bass players in Roseville and Old Sacramento.
I try to watch their fingering but the muting frustrates me. Can’t see a thing.
I totally didn’t look at these pawnshop electric bass guitars, he lied.
Pictures taken with a Samsung Galaxy 5 phone.
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