I love Downtown Vegas. With the old hotels on the strip now gone, this is the one place that retains some of the history of Vintage Vegas, that and you don’t have to walk five miles to get to the next hotel. As someone who adheres to the dress code of shabby prep, Ralph Lauren clothes that are either too big or too wrinkled and most time both, I fit in with the eclectic mix of hipsters, street performers, midwest first time visitors, locals, drunks, beggars, punk kids and every other cliche you can think of. At the end of Freemont Street, past the canopy that lights up at night, past the Heart Attack Grill with people happily weighing themselves hoping to eclipse 350 pounds so they can get their free meal sits the El Cortex hotel, which, since 1941, has entertained guests. As you enter, you can feel the history, among other things, oozing from the walls. One day I found myself inside and for some reason drawn to the electronic craps machine. A few words may have been changed, but following is an almost verbatim blow by blow of what happened. I changed the names to protect the innocent and because this, most likely, in some form, will wind up in a movie I’m writing.
