Suicide in Las Vega Hell is expensive. This is my first thought as my plane lands in Las Vegas. The Luxor hotel's glass pyramid seems dangerously close to the runway's edge, as do its chocolate-and-gold sphinx and rows of shaved palms. I wonder if these rooms tremble when jets land. Behind the Luxor are mountains kissed by dust the hue of bone; to its left lies the Strip, where color is so bright it looks like it has died, rotted, and come back as a poisonous flower. I have been forewarned. First, I am told flying in at noon is "not the way to enter Vegas." Correct entry is at night. This way I would have the full treatment of neon and glowing sky. As a child, I was taught no