Whatever Happen in Vegas Stays in My Heart @The Venetian

The Statue

At the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas, there was a busker in the mall lobby who played a statue, staying motionless. Almost every visitor passing by would tip him, placing notes and coins near his feet.

Two little girls noticed the money scattered on the ground, got excited, and began picking up the statue busker's earnings one by one. After gathering them all, they ran to show their parents, who were about five steps away. The busker remained still, continuing to play the role of a statue.

Just as I was about to step in and explain the situation to the girls, their parents noticed what had happened. Embarrassed, they quickly returned all the money to the busker and apologized. Yet, he didn’t budge—not a twitch, not a blink.

I was filled with admiration. This was a beautiful level of artistic dedication. Was he so committed to his art that he wouldn’t let the money disrupt his performance? Or perhaps, deep inside, he was secretly proud, knowing his performance was so convincing that it had led to this little mix-up?

When he noticed I had been staring at him with admiration for so long, he suddenly winked at me. I laughed and said, “You moved!”

The Clown

During the week of my business trip at The Venetian, I found myself stopping by the mall area every day to watch the same show. Each time, the same clown performing the act would hand me a chocolate.

At first, I was enchanted by his performance, but as the days went on, I realized the surprises were part of a well-rehearsed routine, and it started to lose its charm.

On my last day watching the show, I approached the clown and asked if he enjoyed his job. With a smile, he reached into his bag, pulled out a chocolate coin, and handed it to me—just like he had every other day. But this time, he suddenly slashed his finger across his neck and stuck out his tongue, as if to silently say: It’s killing me.

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He knew that I was only in Vegas for a brief business trip, spending a week at The Venetian Hotel. On one of the bridges over the canal, Z approached me to chat. He knew my stay was short, but he still wanted to spend time with me. I told him it was a shame because it was my last day, and I’d be heading back to Los Angeles early the next morning. “It was nice meeting you,” I said, thinking to myself that this might be all the time fate allowed us.

That evening, he didn’t give up and messaged me again. When I learned that my boss had said I could finish early and wouldn’t be disturbed, I immediately replied, “Okay, come pick me up from my hotel.”

We walked through the streets, bantering back and forth. Whenever we saw street performers, we’d approach them for a hug. If we passed a live band, we’d stop to listen. At one point, he wrapped his arms around me from behind as we enjoyed the music together. His smile was so sweet, but even sweeter was when he took my hand and said, “You’re about to discover the real downtown Las Vegas.”

He mysteriously bought tickets for something but wouldn’t tell me what it was. Keeping up the suspense, he led me up a staircase—five floors high! It wasn’t until we reached the top that I realized he’d bought tickets for a zip line. I’m a bit afraid of heights, but before I could even think about backing out, the staff had already started strapping me into the gear. Z couldn’t stop laughing at my reaction to this unexpected surprise.

Then, we were launched into the air. As we zipped through the sky, the entire street unfolded beneath us. His laughter mixed with my screams, echoing as we soared.

After the thrilling zip line ride, we kept walking around, laughing and exploring. Z loved taking photos, snapping candid shots of me whenever I wasn’t paying attention. As I wandered further ahead, he ran after me, grabbed me, and lifted me off the ground. He carried me on his shoulders, running across two whole blocks, his cheers blending with my laughter.