Home > Alcohol, Depressing, Drinking, Food, Las Vegas, Scary, Strange > The Time I Went Down Bad Choices Boulevard

The Time I Went Down Bad Choices Boulevard

Every street has a Bad Choices Boulevard, or the BCB, as I like to call it.

It’s that dusty road in the vicinity of downtown, but not in the heart of the city. It’s off the beaten path, and you only ever travel it if something horribly wrong has happened in your life. You were faced with a choice at some point, and your decision at the time was fuck it.

It’s got your pawn shops, liquor stores, the county jail, the impound lot, bail bondsmen, drug dens, gun stores, and let’s say houses of ill repute. There is nothing for you on this road unless you are seeking, selling, or suffering the legal ramifications of hedonistic SIN. But you have to admit, it’s convenient that everything is grouped together. After posting bail, you can immediately go get hammered or high, maybe buy a firearm, and most likely end up back in jail that very same day.

In Las Vegas, the BCB is slightly off the old section of the strip, near the Golden Nugget. And this version has several extra perks, including blinding sand, dark dank casinos, and a taco stand that appears to serve tacos of the, well, human variety.

On this street, you begin to see hints of the Vegas that Hunter S. Thompson described. Only natives, or very unlucky tourists, venture here, and everyone is on a mission. You do not walk the BCB to soak up the local flavor, nor do you wander here with a plastic cowboy boot full of strawberry daiquiri. Cirque du Soleil ain’t gonna do a show here, and the only fountain you might see is being used to wash a hooker’s clothes.

So if you are meandering through a city and suddenly find yourself on the BCB, just turn around. Unless you’ve gotten your car impounded or something. Then just cut loose and have fun, and turn your shit into shitade. Or lemonade. Or however that goes. You get the idea.

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