An hour at night, I arrive at McCarran Airport, the airport of Las Vegas. It is the 8th airport in the world. How’s that? Why? A small 43 million tourists come every year, 70% of whom come to gamble.
Nine o’clock in the morning I walk with my guide through Baseco, one of the slums, in Manila. Klam weather, the district is located on the sea, where all kinds of junk find their way to open water or beach. Houses, who aren’t houses, pavement, who isn’t a pavemen. Cables everywhere. Running around grubby children. Suddenly I hear someone sing. Nine o’clock Monday morning, not really time for karaoke.
What is life worth when you are homeless or a refugee? What is life worth when you must go to a food bank every week or when you have bulimia or anorexia nervosa? What is life worth when you stare death in the face? Or the other way around, what is life worth when it is over but you have to keep going for only a little while?