Free Preview: Playmate of the Month August 1991 - Corinna Harney
Strolling the Strip in her glitzed-out home town, Corinna Harney looks positively tame. A jaunty chapeau atop her gold tresses, a low-cut black blouse under a fish-net sweater that matches her candy-pink lipstick -- well, the look is practically prosaic next to the checkered polyesters and wild midnight styles of other Las Vegas Strip walkers. The same can't be said for Corinna herself. She is as surprising as the cactus flowers that sprang from the Nevada desert the week we met her. She's a poet in a town full of dice players, a Vegas lover who has never gambled, a blonde whose hair should have been either black or red (her heritage is Cherokee-Irish, on both sides of the family). In a desert of neon, Corinna is a placid oasis. "I was never quite in sync with society," she says. Growing up in Nevada teaches a girl to make her own way. One way was poetry. When words failed her, she just goofed off: Too young to hang out in the casinos, Corinna and her school pals used to hit the Strip and act silly. "It was great. Everything was open late. We'd watch the people, pretending we were tourists." Sometimes, they were tourist terrorists, using squirt guns or waters balloons to startle out-of-towners. The cops put a stop to that; Vegas caters to visitors and expects young locals to find their own fun until they turn 21. On weekends, the kids trucked to the desert. Garage bands plugged in portable generators and bounced thrash rock off the night sky; Corinna and friends danced. They...
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