Leaving Las Vegas by Lesley Whyte

The dazzling lights, the tinkling of slot machines paying out, the cheering people crowded around the craps tables. The whole place is bright, colourful, dizzying. Magical. It's packed tight with people and the noise is unbelievable. I've been out here for a year now and I still haven't gotten used to it. I weave through packs of guests, distributing colourful cocktails and clearing empty glasses. I'm as much a part of the place as the dealers, the pit bosses and the pirate ship.

I'm nobody, just another face, but I'm a part of things.

Without me, that high roller wouldn't get his champagne.
Without me, the bride-to-be would remember this trip.
Without me, lounge singer would lose her voice.

I've never been important before. I've never been an integral part of anything. I might be a small part, a very small part, but I matter. I do. And I've never had that before. It's an amazing feeling. So amazing that even after a year of being out here, sleeping in grubby motel rooms and serving drinks to people who don't even glance at my face, I still feel excited every time I set foot on the casino floor.

I just hope my parents don't track me down.

I'm not ready to go back home to Indiana just yet.