I've discovered Canada's answer to Las Vegas, or perhaps more accurately, Canada's answer to Reno. Windsor, Ontario, a bridge's drive from Detroit (and a sluice for gigantic semis thundering down the 401 like a herd of buffalo endlessly stampeding through a gulley) and just a few hours from Toronto. Its downtown is a mass of strip clubs, late-night Cuban cigar stores, hot-body bars and casinos. And a remorselessy rapacious and fat clan of Michigonian and Ontarian tourists, hoovering up tax-free pleasures, the Americans smuggling cigars and dropping great chunks of their paycheques as they go. Things are a little slow right now because of the casino workers' strike, but that isn't stopping the people from prowling the factory outlet malls and lining up around the block for the chance to do body shots with bored college boys recently released from the bondage of final exams.

Places like downtown Windsor remind me of those international zones you see in documentaries where impoverished people walk through gates every morning to spend their day stitching Tommy Hilfiger shirts for pennies an item. This is the western world's version of those denationalized sweatshops: international id-release zones, favoured with tax exemptions and eased legalities, where vacationers can indulge themselves and participate in what they imagine to be outr� pleasures. People come here under the impression that the rules have been relaxed, when really the rules have only been modified to take advantage of people's combined carnality and gullibility.

I saw something of the same in Vegas, where people were infused the libinal release of being able to take a Cuba Libre or a Paralyzer onto the sidewalk. What amazes me about such behaviour and the glassy-eyed joy it brings, is that no one ever takes a moment to express gratitude to the invisible masters who grant these tourists permission. Why don't they? Why not stop in the flow of foot traffic on the Las Vegas Boulevard, gaze up at the sky-piercing column of light projecting from the Luxor pyramid, and say: "Thank you, state and municipal legislators, and thank you, attendant business lobbyists, for granting me the ability to walk around outside with a kick-ass king can of watery beer solution while the money gets vacuumed out of my pockets. I treasure this". Not once did I catch a glimpse of such gratitude.

parode - exode