Fremont Case Study I: Loose slots, women with whips and the finest damn slab of prime rib north of the Strip.

In its rawest form, The Fremont Street Experience is a 1,375 foot open air sideshow market where off-brand buskers peddle semi-legal highs to leftover tourists. The sunbaked out-of-towner cattle are collared by yard-long margaritas and slosh through the muggy neon vortex in Birkenstock flip-flops toward Circle Row—the last refuge for Vegas rejects desperate for any kind of spotlight.

Inside the sacrificial pit-like rings, flavor-of-the-day hustlers eye you, waiting for a buck to get tossed in their cup. Come one, come all to get flogged by topless nuns, take a photo with a crusty Michael Meyers clutching a four loko, or lose your sunglasses to one of the flesh folding contortionists (you’ll get them back—if you pay the toll.)

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