Long ago, this stretch of land was called Las Vegas. The Sin City…hot as Hell in more ways than one. This place had a way of making debt look sexy.

Picture provocative advertisement cards degrading from age and a slot machine spitting out coins like a squirting orgasm. For that matter, picture a hand on the lever looking scrawny.

That’s something my father exploited from everyone including his own people.

Imagine a Paiute man standing tall and in control, like his presence is everywhere. With everyone from guests to gambling staff looking small and indebted to him.

A man like that will always say stuff that loses meaning.

With the same man in the distance, a woman is walking out the door with travel bags and a Rez dog.

Now imagine a wide gap between the narrator and her father filled with a mountain of strict math, legal, language, and engineering lessons, losing gambling games like Poker to him on wagered candy and allowances, taught how to spot cheaters, training Rez dogs, how to fight off people, how to spot and intimidate, treat certain drugs and adult workers with respect but not reverence.

Now look at the back of the father’s head as he is shaking hands with an elected council member while burning voting tickets.

Back to the narrator in a blank space.

My dad is a bastard.

Frankly things were falling apart before he decided to play lobbyist.

Some drunks look like they’re jerking in horror of the narrator and her dog walking to a bus stop.

Maybe cartel boss suits him better.

Cuz his handiwork wasn’t just in the Rez.

The narrator is now in the Las Vegas strip in front of the Las Vegas Indian Colony.

A voice calls out, "Naya! Naya, wait up!"

Most people didn’t see him the way I do. Like Marcus here.

“I didn’t know you were coming early! Your dad think you weren’t sober enough?”

Marcus is talking to Naya with Naya pretending to listen.

Dad’s one of those “villains with good publicity”. Marcus wouldn’t believe that dad’s the reason I had a gambling problem in the first place.