No time, energy, or motivation to write?

I watched him closely, trying to feel and understand…

How he felt. What he experienced. When he experienced it.

He sat leaning forward, nodding absentmindedly. At times, a smile flickered across his face. Other times, he grinned.

But he wasn’t in the café anymore. He was somewhere else—back in his past, in Las Vegas.

“My name is Wendy. What’s yours?” she asked.

Her voice carried a warmth, a calmness, like soft waves of comfort rippling through me.

“That’s me,” I said, pointing to a giant sign outside the hotel. The sign read…

“To the Strip,” Kurt told the driver.

The Strip was the main artery of Las Vegas, the place to be seen if you wanted to matter.

It was like modern-day cruising, but without the bad music, cheap beer, moonshine, or rusty cars filled with loud, obnoxious people.

No, this was Las Vegas: celebrities, overflowing money, limousines, champagne, rooftop parties, penthouses, strip clubs, and a cocktail of cocaine, ecstasy, and LSD. Everything you could dream of.

And people who craved nothing more than to be remembered.

You’d drive up and down the Strip with hundreds of others, partying and basking in the feeling of being “cool.”

The Strip glowed with neon lights, flanked by casinos, hotels, and bustling restaurants.

Part of the ritual was stopping in front of the grand hotels, stepping out to pose, hoping someone might capture your moment.

It was pointless, really—but that’s showbiz for you.

After about an hour on the Strip, we veered off to “Cardboard City.” It’s where the homeless lived.

Rows of makeshift cardboard homes sprawled behind downtown like a hidden, forgotten world. The streets bore no real names, just letters: L-Street, K-Street, M-Street.

Behind the glitz and glamour, behind the dazzling lights and luxury, it was a stark contrast—a meeting of heaven and hell.

A massive chasm between hunger and indulgence. Between ease and hardship.

Pleasure and pain. Weakness and power. Wealth and poverty. Having everything and having nothing.

People who owned it all and people who owned nothing. Some who felt worthless and others who thought they were worth the world.

That was Vegas: the ultimate yin and yang.

Suddenly, he laughed out loud, breaking the spell, and looked up.

“This is incredible, Tomas!”

I nodded, watching as his gaze drifted back down to the page—or rather, into his past that I had shaped into words.

Then came the part I knew would be hard. The section that might stir something still raw in him.

His face changed. His eyes glistened, holding tears that wouldn’t fall now but must have fallen long ago—when he lost her.

After a long pause, he looked up again.

The man was no longer in Vegas. He was back in the noisy café, seated before his laptop, a family chatting nearby. His eyes met mine.

“This is exactly how I want it written,” he said.