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Cruise control. Classic rock on the radio (when we could find it). Blue skies, cold wind. Snow in the high desert!

Maybe I should call the car Clint. Then it really would be the Car With No Name, and that would be meta.

Reuben sandwich in 29 Palms. Apparently I am now so blase about deserts I can sleep through them. Missed the salt pans, dammit. Saw big trains.

Finally, Las Vegas. This then is hell, nor am I out of it. I have a quandary, people: Karen gave me twenty dollars to gamble on her behalf, and I really really don't want to do it. The rest of Vegas is just over-the-top silly bordering on insane, but the casini are full of desperate people doing something horrible, and I do not want to engage with that. But there's a deal here, whereby - as far as I understand it - I drop a coin in a slot, and money comes rolling out to make Karen rich. It seems unfair to deny her, because I am squeamish. Tomorrow I can maybe get Mark & Helen to hold my hand through the endeavour. Tho' tomorrow we're going on a crazy coach trip from omigod in the morning 'til forever. Many of the worst experiences of my life have begun with coach trips; this can only be an improvement. Surely.

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