The Flamingo seemed like a pretty friendly bar. Except that a guy they called “House” kept staring at me. Clearly his mother didn’t teach him that staring is rude. But, as I found out from a whispering regular, his mother also didn’t teach him that assault and battery were in bad taste.
Apparently, he was recently released after doing time for using some poor bastard’s head as a speed bag. I decided to let him stare.
So, like Las Vegas’ legendary Flamingo Hotel, this place had a few folks who considered the law optional: a little drug deal here, a little hustle there. But despite these activities, it had an upbeat vibe, friendly service, and interesting characters.