It’s our last night in Bellagio. We’ve had our eye on one particular restaurant since the first day we got here. Now we’re trying to get in for dinner without having a reservation. I’ve explained our situation in my best italian to a big, serious-looking gentleman in a black suit who was standing at the door. He’s looking over his big, black reservation book, mulling over whether or not he’s going to find a table for us. Continue reading “Last Night in Bellagio”
