MIRACLE ON THE MILE

Vegas is an interesting town to visit as a single woman, alone.

Anyone who’s walked anywhere on or near the Strip knows that it essentially adds up to little more than a catwalk, everyone dressed and on display for public dissection or, as the case may be, consumption. Other than those who are too drunk, high or hungover to notice you, everyone looks at you through certain eyes. Jealous eyes, threatened eyes, lofty eyes or, mostly, lustful eyes. I’ve walked that Miracle Mile more times than I can count and I’ve experienced that full gamut of judgements and longings, amplified this time, alone, from A to D, ambivalence to desire. But the Miracle I experienced one morning this trip far outweighed even the most flirtatious flattery of male finery. I walked in flips, jeans and a T and unintentionally found myself the center of an unconscious universal fantasy that time made everyone forget they even had. I was being stared at from young, old, men, women, black, white, conservative, ..not conservative, with the softest of eyes. As soft as cotton candy. And that was the ticket. The hottest ticket in town. I ask you, when was the last time you saw a woman, an insouciant air about her, walking by herself, 11am, eating a perfect pink pillowy stick of cotton candy? I felt like I was in a dream bubble and the whole world paused to watch, to relish, to look inward and remember themselves in a more innocent time. The moment left not a small menagerie of soulful smiles smeared across Sin City’s synthetic face.......