Profile

Given the punk rock jukebox and the worn mahogany, you might conclude that this is the sister bar of The Library across the street. But in actuality, it’s an outpost of a notorious dive where Vegas trannies and psychobillies rub tattooed elbows around the clock. That anarchic spirit lives on in the airbrush mural of skeletons and nudes looming above the banquettes. Yet aside from a stripper-beloved coin-operated plastic pony destined to become the establishment’s mascot, for the most part this is simply a big, dark room in which to get drunk: You can start with start with the eight-hour weekday happy hour, where well drinks and domestic beers are two-for-one. The murky bacon-infused vodka makes for a salty, smokey martini and also goes into a Bloody Mary. Don’t bother asking about the numerous ingredients in the “ass juice” shot, which tastes like a slightly bitter Hurricane. Although a porno match-em-up game and blaring F.U. tunes from the Dead Boys and the Dead Kennedys scream of antisocial behavior, rockabilly reprobates make friendly around the pool table just like at any other neighborhood bar. — Daniel Maurer

The Las Vegas Double Down is so thick with smoke that you might find yourself exhaling it even if you aren’t sucking down a cigarette. Here, there’s a backyard patio for nic fiends.