I went into the Luxor, carefully tracking my steps, maintaining my orientation so I could find my way back out. I went through casino after casino on floor after floor. A long ramp led me upward, then an escalator carried me down.

I began to panic after an hour or so. The fake Egyptian stuff had morphed into fake medieval stuff.

I finally asked directions to the way out.

A shopkeeper in peasant clothing asked, "Do you want the South Entrance or the West Entrance?"
"Out," I begged, "I don't care which entrance. What's the nearest door that goes out, like outside?"

She looked alarmed. "Go up that escalator. Walk straight ahead. Don't look to the left or right." (Okay, I made that part up.) "You'll come to an elevator just past the Merrie Olde Stage. Go down to 2. Ask the woman outside the Museum."

I came out on the backside of Excalibur near the dumpsters. I took a deep breath anyway. The night air smelled good, although a little like fried fish.

Caesar's Palace has fake Roman stuff. The statues and murals look almost like art, but they're not. They resemble classical Italian figures, but they're curiously inert. They seem to have the bodies right, but their faces look as though they're all from the same family—I'd guess they're from Brooklyn.

This is not a guitar.

This is not outdoors.

On my flight home, I sat in front of a real estate agent from Northern California. "I saw Michelangelo's David!" she gushed to her seatmate. "In Caesar's there's a model they made to the exact specifications as the old one. It's just as good as seeing the original. I'm bringing my kids with me next trip, because it will be so educational for them."

I saw that "new one," and I've seen the original, too. The old one wasn't made to any exact specifications. An artist created it so that, when you stand below it, you feel like you're in the presence of something much bigger than you are. When you stand below the imitation, you feel like you're in the presence of a manikin, not much different from the ones in the Victoria's Secret shop windows just behind it.

It's easy in Las Vegas to forget how small the city is, and how beautiful the mountains are.

The cabbie who took me to the airport had a realistic view of the city. He said, "I wouldn't mind catching a flight out of here today. But I live here." He shook his head in puzzled resignation. "Just a bunch of toys, man. I don't get it. They built a city out of toys."