Cheval et Chihuly

The night is inexorably creeping onwards. Mom and Louise are troopers, but they begin to drag. I beg, I plead, I keep heading down the Strip, Bellagio-bound. We missed the Ansel Adams exhibit earlier. I REALLY want to experience the Chihuly glass installation on the ceiling of the lobby.

Cirque de Soleil posters give way to public service signs like "Responsible for getting more people laid than any other bar in Vegas! Please use condoms." At one point Louise stops and pulls me close. "See down there?" her arms sweeps. "And up there, as far as the eye can see? It's ALL Ceasar's Palace!"

I try and look innocent. "All I said was that the Bellagio is right next door!"

"Chi-WHO?" asks Mom wearily, certain that NOTHING would be better than to crawl into a taxi and head to the hotel.

The cold, endless walk continues in the smoke filled rabbit warren of the casino. We thread our way through beautiful people dressed to the nines bearing martinis, and blue jeans and flannel shirts hoping to hit it big. And then we are in the lobby. And there above, the crazy aerial garden. And wholly unexpected, fiercely arching his enormous neck under the wild glass jungle, prances a giant, sparkling warhorse!

We have arrived!