But no hookers with a heart of gold. Not enough time for the male protagonist to drink himself to death. A soundtrack bereft of thick slaps of cheese courtesy of Don Henley and Der Stingel. Not a sign of - and I can't stress this enough - Julian Sands as a Latvian pimp. Only a couple of days in Las Vegas. A third season of the week. I walked through a late breath of winter on the streets of Butte Sunday night. Experienced giddy spring in Brigham City and amid the staggering beauty of Capitol Reef National Park on Wednesday. And then summer in Las Vegas. 100 degrees Friday. Only in the 90s while many lucky motorists, like myself, were parked on I-15 in the Valley of Fire, 30 miles north of the city, waiting for an accident to clear Thursday afternoon. Then back to the mod interior of my cabana suite at the El Corrtez. About 36 hours after my second arrival at the El Cortez, it was time to leave. Of...