Blathr Wayne Lorentz

Meanwhile, outside my office window, a guy tries to fix his car.

Itʼs 50° and windy, and heʼs shirtless. I can only assume he doesnʼt want to get it dirty.

Meanwhile, outside my office window, in the middle of traffic…

Yes, reusing plastic shopping bags is one way to save on airline baggage fees when visiting Las Vegas.

But in case your oversized TJMaxx carrier blows out a block from your hotel, disgorging all of your worldly possessions onto sidewalk, you might want to have a Plan B.

This is what happens when a homeless guy watches too much Marie Kondo on Netflix.

At least he has the sense to keep the waffle iron.

So this guy rolls up on his motorcycle, pulls a suit bag out of his pannier and hangs it in a tree. Then he pulls out a big tub of Windex Wipes and gives himself a full bath — underbits and all — while standing in the parking lot. Then he unzips the suit bag, puts on a tuxedo, and walks away down the street. Ta da!

I know some tourists like to bring their own pillows to Las Vegas hotels of unknown quality, but unless your lodging cost less than $30, you probably donʼt need to bring your own Swiffer.

“Oh, hi!”

In my mind I like to think that the bus driver simply said, “Fuck it. Iʼm out!” and walked away from his bus. But reality is less dramatic.

He probably just died at the wheel.

He picked up the discarded Wild Turkey jug, slurped out the homeless guyʼs backwash, and tossed it aside for the next guy.

Eeeeew!

When you show up to work on Monday and thereʼs a dead guy at the bus stop outside your window, itʼs either a bad omen for the week ahead, or an indication that things canʼt possibly get worse.

After a long night of walking the streets trying to convince drunk conventioneers that youʼre a woman, it feels good to stretch your kinky boots.

And using a utility pedestal is a handy way to stretch your hamstrings.

Again? Why canʼt women keep their hands off of my tree?

If youʼre fleeing from the police, donʼt try to hide under the bush in front of my office window. Because when the cops catch up to you and you try to run, your purse will get snagged on the branches, and no amount of texting will keep you from being frogmarched down to the curb in handcuffs.

It looks like the neighborhood purse snatcher stepped in something. I guess he deserves it since he has two purses in his hand and three on his back.

Todayʼs lesson from the office window: If you tell the cops that thing they found while frisking you is a harmonica, be prepared to sing and dance.

Back to work day. The window never fails to entertain.

California license plate. Must be a local.

Why is it that women keep attacking the tree outside my office window?

This chick hiked up her dress, adjusted her lady parts, and then went to town on the foliage.

After loading up on branches, she strolled off down the street, just like the other one did!

“I just traded my shoes for this speedball. Mind if I shoot up right outside your office window? I don't think the people in the seven lanes of traffic will mind.”

“Hi, there. Iʼm building a temple to my Earth goddess in the abandoned Burger King across the street, so Iʼm collecting samples of all the trees in the neighborhood to sacrifice in my Gender Studies class. Can I rip some branches off of your tree and put them in my blue bucket? K, thanks! Also, Iʼm high as fuck.”

Construction cones have appeared. Change is in the air.

Charlie Brownʼs kite-eating tree has developed an appetite for hats.

Day 9: The couch has been called home. Godspeed, Stains McComfortson.

Day 7: A guy does a little dance in traffic, then takes off his clothes, puts them on the couch and strides toward the Stratosphere. I think heʼs already there.