OK so John is forcing me (at gunpoint, where he got it I don't know. Probably a seven-eleven) to do a diary entry. Not sure what to write right now thought, I'm just praying he won't shoot me and Gianni won't use his supersarcasm on me.

I lost some money at gambling. Not much, about an hours work for a unix consultant and about a months work for a Mexican handing out flyers on the Strip. Even so, we have moved into a cheapass hotel/casino now, and Gianni is prepared to eat the slimy toy I bought, so maybe we aren't doing THAT well.

The food in Las Vegas (and I suspect in most of the US) is just horrid or overpriced, makes you ill and makes you want to eat more at the same time.

Gianni has changed into this gamble-and-win-super-competitive-mode. "I bet I can eat this entire burger in 1.2 minutes". I'm going to tell the coppers that he's under-age and sell his ticket to go gambling.

John has put the gun down now, I'm going to make a run for it.