By Joe Schoenmann
I moved from the “tony” west side of Las Vegas, near Rampart and Charleston, to Downtown a little more than 12 years ago.
Married at the time, we moved into a rental home near 15th and Charleston owned by a Republic Services trash picker who paid for all the paint, wood, fixtures—anything we needed to fix the place up—so long as we put in the labor.
On one side of the house lived a religious family who forbade their children from talking to us, believing we were “drug dealers,” as their little girl told us. On the other side was a local rock ’n’ roller who lived a life unimaginable. We once saw a limo full of the female lifeguards from Baywatch streaming into his home for an after-hours party.