I love how my job requires me to jump down the maw of Las Vegas. But sometimes that can be a little dangerous, like last Tuesday, when I approached a woman deep in the ghetto for a story. Turns out she was crazy. She flipped, started screaming every epithet in the book at me, then followed me around the corner and grabbed a handful of rocks from her yard, making as if to throw them at me.
I scurried away. The whole episode has become a running joke between my editor and me. I don't think we've had an exchange since that didn't include the mention of pith helmets. Oh well. Got the story anyway.
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