Swampland beckons where Voodoo and Magic charm a spell

Whenever people ask me where I live, I say “Las Vegas,” and pause a beat, and add “Not near the strip”. As if defending myself that I am not a gambler, nor a drinker or a smoker. It elicits opposing reactions; a blank stare, a sneer or downright hostility.

A paradoxical land of brilliant greens and dusty browns

Sometimes, with a nervous mannerism, he reminds me of actor Gene Wilder, delivering a mad spark that explodes into manic hilarity. But it’s his Yiddish that hurls me onto the floor, although I don’t understand a word, it sounds like he’s either coughing or spitting in your face, and the audience cackles from his animation.