Last week I visited Las Vegas with my family. While relaxing in our room on the 23 floor one afternoon I began to hear an annoying squawk from down on the street coming through the heavy plate glass window. The incessant prattling noise sounded like an angry street preacher rising up above the din of the busy city.
So I finally got up to take a look.
And there he was, standing on curbside, just to the right of the bus by the intersection, holding up a black and white sign and bellowing into a bullhorn.
Can you see him? He’s barely more than a smudge of pixels in the picture, but my goodness, was he loud. Sitting in a chair with a window closed on the 23 floor I could make out his sermon of anger, condemnation, and a shrill call for repentance.
I can’t imagine what it sounded like on the street.
