Having no clue about his target-audience, Kid found it difficult to pick a stage. A single nail in the pocket of his worn jeans, hammer in his hand and the pamphlet tucked into his jacket, he just wandered about the streets of Las Vegas. He always liked to be there as it wasn’t complex like so many other places. Perhaps not always for the best of things, but the lighthearted or irresponsible attitude dominant on The Strip made going about business there a breeze compared to other cities.

The wedding chapel on the far end of The Strip would do. He got the idea from Luther, but Kid was fairly sure that his theses were nailed on a church-door with a different model. Rice and flowers of the cheap kind littered the floor in front of Kid. The hammer joined them after he was done. Smiling softly and tilting his head, wondering whether it made sense at all, …

!!!CRAACHCSHS!!!

The door flew open and an elder couple stumbled outside, barely keeping to their feet. The pair's smiles and intensity suggested happiness and accomplishment, but at the same time their act was void and meaningless.

“Perhaps Vegas wasn’t the best place for this.” Kid mumbled to himself when turning around to stroll back over The Strip towards his hotel, leaving behind what was nailed on the door.
 

• You reached the finish line and have no clue what to do tomorrow
• You know people will agree with you, even if they don’t agree with you
• You know so many people, that hierarchy becomes more important than liking people
• You know people assume you’re skillful in many areas, without them actually knowing you
• You have to pretend you’re skillful in many areas, while the chance is real you aren’t
• You see other Godfathers being better than you and wonder how many others recognise that
• You are being measured in tales and recognition, instead of statistics
• You ask yourself whether you’re great or others just died sooner than you
• You keep searching for reasons to convince yourself that you are the real deal
• You know the odds keep increasing that someone will challenge your position
• You start to mourn more deaths than celebrate births
• You recognise there is no one left to impress
• You achieved everything there is to achieve
• You are waiting to die
• You …

Colt was blowing smoke through the Vegas sky, hearing an echoey voice ramble somewhere in the dark alleyways. Probably just a homeless person, drowning their sorrow by keeping themselves in a drunken state. He looked up at the stars, foolishly thinking he could pull some sort of energy from them. Alas, it was in vain. 

For some time, Colt was feeling tired. He didn't know what it was. He slept well, and a lot, but his motivation was missing. He thought about the old days, when he was young, creative, energetic. Now, he was a simple old man with a big name. Everything was weighing so heavily on him. The loss of his beautiful Joy. Friends turning on him. Bad decisions he had taken all along his journey.

And he knew he had friends to support him. And a lot of them. He was so thankful for them, he wasn't sure what he would do without them. They were the only thing that kept him running his operations, and he would protect them until the day he died.

Snapping out of his day dream, Colt noticed the voice had grown closer to him. He recognized a man famous for his many speeches on the Streets. He seemed to be talking about the reasons he didn't want to occupy the rank Colt was in. The black man listened, fascinated. When the speech was done, Colt dropped his cigarette, crushed it and walked away to the airport. The speech had resonated with him. He felt a lot of things mentionned by the Philadelphia man. Not all of them, but a good bit.

He felt old.