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Chapter Four (A New Hope)
After our experience at the Rivera, it was time to go and never
come back. The Shitkickers didn't appreciate outsiders in their hotel, and it
was time to head away from this "Little Texas" horror show before we
got our asses kicked. It was off to the Bleagio, Vegas's newest eyesore on the
strip. But the Belagio was different. The cocktail waitresses were young, the
drinks weren't as watered down, and the inside didn't look like you had just
stepped into some laser Floyd show that had gone hideously wrong. But already we
knew there might be trouble. There had already be a lot of Shitkickers turned
away. Apparently this was one of the only places in Vegas which had limits to
the kind of hillbilly it let in. walking though it was hard no to realize the
Beligio was a savior to this horrid town. Carpets that clean, air that was
fresh, and no shit kickers. We had arrived, and this would be our new home. This
was until security caught on. Soon they were asking for pay slips and to see our
bank accounts. Apparently middle class people were not allowed in here ether.
Mark pleaded that we were no shit kickers, but it didn't matter, no tan, no
Gucci watch, no dice. We were escorted out, but we a look at what Vegas would be
like if they were no theme Casino's, shit kickers or anything tacky. We were
only across the street from Bally's, yet we were time zones away from Vegas.
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