ABSTRACT
In downtown Las Vegas, the old Vegas, where you can still find $25-anight, stale tobacco-scented hotel rooms that shudder with the slot machines in the casino below, neon is an old friend. It buzzes outside the hotel windows and shimmers along the Glitter Gulch, the stretch of Fremont Street where jostling casino fronts enact a luminous battle for the gambler's coveted dollar.
