Something wasn't right. I'd been on the plane for too long, so I obviously wanted to get off. But I didn't need to get off...now.
That's what was different.
Getting off the plane, I didn't try to sneak out into the aisle before was supposed to. At baggage claim, I didn't knock a lady over while trying to get my bags before her. Arriving at the hotel, I didn't jump a railing to get to the poker room two seconds faster.
I'd done all of those things before, but this time I didn't.
Maybe because I was just walking into the office this time.
***
So I worked, doing what I do, and occasionally stealing glances at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror. I should sleep. I'd been awake for 19 hours, working for about eleven.
But maybe I should go check and see if one of my featured players is still playing the Limit Hold'em Shoot-out.
Sure, I should.
***
I was walking faster this time, down a long corridor where the Arctic Cat convention had been eight hours earlier. A guy I know was walking the other way.
"Wait, wait, wait. Where you going?" he asked, now walking backward as I walked away.
"Just going to go check in and see if I've missed anything," I said.
"No...drinks," he said and rattled off the name of a bar.
"Might see you there," I said, knowing full-well I wouldn't.
***
My featured player had busted. Work was through for the day.
***
Five hours later, I laid in bed and listened to the desert wind scream through a little vent in my window. The sun was up and so was I. I've found myself in the middle of a month-long, marathon work session. My office is a poker room. My break room is a poker room.
This was the first day of a A Month in Las Vegas.
It lasted 25 hours.