Daddy and I went to the park. We swung for 30 minutes, smelled barbecue and listened to Nelly Furtado songs blasting from a nearby party.
Sometimes when I laughed hard, it was drowned out by passing jumbo jets because Daddy took me to Molasky Park, a 10-acre facilty brilliantly located right beneath McCarran International Airport’s flight path. I still had fun. But to properly experience these pictures, imagine deafening engine noise every four minutes.