James Lockwood had never been to Vegas.
Being that he just got hired at his firm - an outfit that peddled all sorts of tin foil - he’d been travelling more now than he ever was used to.
So here he was in Sin City hoping to score an account for the hotel’s pillow chocolates and, truth be told, all he had on his mind was a little cabana R&R.
At the hotel swimming pool he marveled at the grand scale of the area from the landscaped detail of the foliage to the majestic architecture of the resort that towered over crispy sunbathers.
And lets not forget those little chippies, dressed like little swamis serving cocktails with their bejeweled turbans and sexy saris.
While most men would bask in the notion of chatting them up, Lockwood just closed the drape to his cabana and opened the dorkiest fantasy novel that ever was.