www.nsfwcorp.com -- LAS VEGAS: It's just past 5 a.m. and I'm sitting in my suite at The Plaza hotel, high up above the grimy streets of downtown Las Vegas. On the horizon, beyond the gold brick Trump Tower, beyond the needle of the Stratosphere, beyond the shimmering lights of the city, I can make out the hazy outline of the Spring Mountain range that separates the Vegas basin from the open Mojave Desert.
In a few hours, I am going to cross those mountains, drop down into California and head in the direction of my next NSFWCORP assignment: I'm moving to Victorville, California, a gnarly desert bubble suburb that inflated faster and popped harder than almost any other place in the West.
I know Victorville well. Maybe too well. . .
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