Instead, he proclaimed to them and anyone in earshot, "All I care about is the shrimp!" One of his kin then asked, "Can’t you try something else, for a change?" "No, just the shrimp." While they go back for more and cover every variety of food with each scoop onto the plate, he sits, solitary, with a mound of shrimp, almost eight inches high at the peak, a giant bowl of cocktail sauce at the base. My mind begins to wander…thinking now only about death and sacrifice: the shrimp are Aztecs being led to slaughter, mounded on the temple like animals, and the cocktail sauce a pool of blood. The precedent of such a thought lies in Georges Bataille's work on sacrifice and excess, which described the ways in which all economies end in forms of waste, excess, and sacrifice, and it of this thought that I am continually reminded while in Las Vegas, especially at the buffets. Like the Aztec's bludgeoning of their own, the man's act of eating up all of the shrimp--and going back for a second full plate--speaks of the sacrificial underpinnings of the Vegas buffet: while he can go back, like his kin, and pile up other items on his plate--rolls, salads, soups, and a variety of iced, colored cakes--he refuses, disavows accumulation in favor of sacrifice, and says to the world in the process, "This is all that I want." In this moment he wastes his opportunity to take up more items--to consume the world--and he instead fixates on only one, the shrimp. The man's example of wasted effort at the buffet is symbolic of the many forms of excess and sacrifice that, hidden beneath the surface of the Strip's seeming accumulation and abundance, make themselves visible if we are willing to look for them.