So you've finally pulled away from the tables at Vegas.

You've spent way too much time gambling. Your clothes reek of alcohol (from earlier in the evening) and cigarettes (from your fellow gamblers). The underside of your arm is marked with the club tramp stamp - a not-so-gentle reminder that you dropped $15 for each Red Bull vodka. You stagger outside of the casino that you're not even staying at and realize it's early morning.

You reach into your pockets and realize you lost more money than you wanted. No cab ride for you. Hey, you're on the Strip.. how far could your hotel be?

You ask the valet which way your hotel is.

He points.

You peek - and you see the hotel. 

You mutter, "Oh, I see it! It doesn't look too far."

The valet replies, "Oh, dude. It's like a mile away."

You don't believe him. You start walking in your nice "going out" shoes which aren't really good for walking.

It's 7am. The Midwestern tourists are out with their fannypacks, taking early pictures of the hotel casinos.

You see a kindred spirit walking back to the hotel you just exited - his luck was just as bad as yours. But he's far more trashed than you, so you avoid eye contact.

10 minutes later, you realize that the walk is really long. Every person who walks past you gives you a look.

You eventually stumble back to your hotel and pass out, only to start things up again four hours later.

That, my friends, is the Vegas walk of shame.