I was surrounded by concrete and automobiles when I awakened. And goddamn, I was cold. Passed out on the concrete floor was no way for a desert rat to sober up on a winter night in this city. I was on the 3rd floor of the parking garage at the Hard Rock Hotel between a white, nondescript sedan that probably belonged to a 60-year-old 5th grade english teacher and an early 2000s silver Honda rice burner, the kind prescribed only to Asian B-Boys.
I got my feet under me and with furrowed brow, did a visual sweep to get my bearings. Checked my cell phone. It was almost 2 a.m. Then I started my walk to the Double Down.