Vegas is Mars

Tales from the Outer Rim

"I've finally figured it out; Vegas is Mars."

Mr. Hall perused the article on his iPad intently.
 "Really, I mean it.  Just look around you.  Does this place look like Earth to you?"
Mrs. Hall had been arranging her recent photographs into chronological order, and suddenly it all became clear to her.
 "The buildings, the 'people', those weird plants... it's all coming together for me now."
Mr. Hall endeavored to focus on his reading with as much obvious purpose as he could muster, but Mrs. Hall was on a tear as they say, and as such, oblivious to subtlety.
"The architecture is like no other place on Earth that I know.  Monorails taking people all around the town- moving sidewalks.  I've seen all the movies- I know Mars when I see it!"

"There is not a species of plant that I recognize out back.  Most of them are downright scary.  I can say with all confidence that the only flora with which I have any knowledge in this entire place is the Astroturf® laying alongside of our patio!"  Mr. Hall decided now would be a good time to retire to his lair upstairs for awhile and reorganize his coin collection.
He had given the job due consideration for the better part of an hour and a half, and after he woke up and stretched a bit, he came to the conclusion that it must be pretty close to lunchtime.  He peeked around the corner and inquired about the odds of having bean soup on the menu.
The previous subject matter, however, still seemed to be lingering in the air- Mrs. Hall picked up the conversation where she had left off, even as she prepared herself a sardine sandwich.
"What were those things we saw walking about in front of the Venetian the other day- they certainly didn't look of this world.  And those crowds down on Fremont Street!  If that's not a road show version of 'Total Recall' I don't know what-."  She laid the place settings.
"I'll tell you what's unearthly," said Mr. Hall, as he poked through the cabinets.  "It's people who think sardines are supposed to be lunch material." He pulled out a can of split pea soup and gestured in its direction. The conversation took a brief sabbatical at that point, as they calmly discussed the relative health benefits of fish versus peas, but later that evening, Mr. Hall actually took up the banner.
"Look, I'll admit this place is different; but isn't that what we wanted?  It's not New York for sure, but as far as the weather goes, that's a very good thing. Traffic on the interplanetary shuttles seems to be working at full capacity, because our guest room has been occupied every other weekend since we moved here.  Earth or Mars, what difference does it make?  I like it here, the food's good and it's fun, so what's yer beef?" Mr. Hall refolded his newspaper forcefully for the purpose of visual punctuation and rested his argument.
"It's solid logic like that that leaves little room for discussion," Mrs. Hall admitted and gave him a little peck on the cheek. She was just about to compliment him on his debating skills when she spied an advert in his paper.  "Loosest slots in the Universe!  Whoa baby- what are we doing this weekend?"