auto, and the author of the french cookbook and soul of a chef. he washed up in vegas at just the right time. vegas was always the most unlikely of dreams. the longest of long shots, in the middle of the desert. a real, but imaginary space that keeps expanding, creeping ever larger across the waste land. 100,000 became 300,000, became 500,000, then a million, then two. but it doesn't matter if it was five years ago or 50, the town has always ended like this. an abrupt cut from the desert wrapped on the horizon. but there are comfortable, dark places too. where a man can have a drink, meet like-minded sophisticados of the open west.