The writer and his oldest friends reunited to mourn the ones they lost—and honor the time they have left.

A story of gambling addiction, in seven parts.

Las Vegas is both stranger and more normal than you might imagine, and for some reason, people don’t think anyone lives there.

After a mass shooting, who cares for the coroners?

A profile of a “49-year-old man whose father has just yelled at him,” Frank Sinatra Jr., a son living under the longest shadow.

Inside a sleazy FBI sting involving diet clinics, fitness models, money laundering, and a supposed plot to hire a hitman.

The days, weeks, and months after the worst mass shooting in modern American history.

A Las Vegas hustler hits his lowest point.

Fred Steese served more than 20 years in prison for the murder of a Vegas circus performer even though evidence proved he didn’t do it. When the truth came to light, he was offered a confounding deal: he could go free, but only if he agreed to remain a convicted killer.

How the Raiders got to Las Vegas.

How a card-counting former meteorologist from Las Vegas made the first perfect Showcase bid in the 38-year history of The Price Is Right.

How modern slot machines develop a nearly unbreakable hold on the brain, leading around one in five pathological gamblers to attempt suicide.

He stole over $1 million in chips – then checked himself into casino’s hotel to live like a king.

A look inside Donald Trump’s portfolio of exclusive real estate properties.

On the rapid disintegration of the ecosystem in Las Vegas.

How Billy Walters, the world’s most successful gambler, keeps winning.

A pair of gamblers and a glitch too good to last.

Retracing Hunter S. Thompson’s steps 40 years later.

Britney Spears works Vegas, bitch.

“We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.”

A trio of addicts--a man, a woman, and a prostitute--venture into Las Vegas to find a dealer.

"At the corner of Tropicana and Las Vegas Boulevard, we are swallowed by a cheery, comforting crowd of good mothers from Wisconsin and fathers from Minnesota, out as late as they ever have been. It is a sea of gaping purses. Flip-phones are holstered to belts, tucked under big bellies. Half-drunk gallon-sized tubes of ruby-red beverage crowd the trashcans and I have no qualms about picking one for myself and gulping it down. The liquid is warm and syrupy, but under it all there is the low burn of rum, a small relief. Deborah has powdered her nose and is eyeballing the frat boys on the periphery. Only Shelly is looking lost, still sweating around her underarms, her eyes bugging and the space under her chin, dipping up and down, swallowing nothing."

A field report from Electric Daisy Carnival, a three-night bacchanal in the Las Vegas desert attended by “100,000 wasted hedonists scantily dressed in furry underwear.”

How the biggest club in Vegas does business.

A group of misfit boys from the fringes of Las Vegas form a clique. Then, with murky motives, they decide to murder one of their own and bury him in a desert pit.

Before the market crashed and home prices tumbled, before federal investigators showed up and hauled away the community records, before her property managers pled guilty for conspiring to rig neighborhood elections, and before her real estate lawyer allegedly tried to commit suicide by overdosing on drugs and setting fire to her home, Wanda Murray thought that buying a condominium in Las Vegas was a pretty good idea.