First Sentence:
rocks, away from the scorching desert air, slithering into coiled solitude as if finally accepting guilt for the Garden of Eden. During the day, when the heat did its worst, the temperature rising to over 110 degrees, tourists still milled around the Strip, shuffling with the dutiful doggedness of the vacationer ("We paid for this fun package, and by God . . .") from one attraction to the next, all of them bleeding sweat, each weary traveler trudging along shell-shocked, wondering how they aimed for an oasis and wound up instead in the Ninth Circle of Hell.