To one side hummed Sammy Hagar’s Red Rocker Bar & Grill, wreathed in flat screens and giant cutouts of the man himself. (On the bathroom wall: a red semi-transparent box with a biohazard sticker, full of diabetes testing strips.) Through the plate glass door was a sprawling casino, mostly slots, and past that a crowd in line for the buffet. There was a valet under a jaunty high-cocked awning, which I soon realized was less for high rollers than the elderly.
From outside the Southland Greyhound Park could be mistaken for an enormous bowling alley-all angles and red neon stripes that light up first to mirror, then exceed, the setting sun.
