Caged Cash

The woman in the cage looked at me funny. I could see her pegging me as either a low roller or a whale. My suit was scruffy but I was copping a lot of black, so before I walked away, I gave her a little toke (so she wouldn't take me for a stiff.) The Venetian is no sawdust joint, so I stood up straight and adjusted my cabretta. When I got to the elevators, I lost the sunglasses and put on my CES badge. As I boarded the lift, I wondered…did I have enough juice to enter the Wilson or Magico suites? Probably not. I'll leave that to Jason and John or Jon and Jana. I figured I'd better stick to "regular-priced amplification" and keep a low profile—or I might end up in a grind joint. How does that saying go? What stays in Vegas…never gets back to Brooklyn? What happens in Vegas…gets blabbered in Stereophile? Damn! I can't remember how it goes.

But look! There's Jana—she wants to go for a gondola ride. And there's Jon—he wants some fine foodie food. Jason wants to go to CVS. Me? I just wanna start showing readers that the "regular-priced amplification" I'll be covering can cost up to $20,000—and that's not chump change!