The streets around Atomic are rife with playa's hustla's pimps & ho's. Maybe that's why there's a doorbell for the place. But once inside, the faint urine scent and linoleum decor are offset by.. what's that... $1 Busch Lites.
(Brief detour... nothing like saying "Goodbye Bush" right before pounding a Busch right before Election Day)
Atomic was a stop for the great Las Vegas Hash House Harriers Red Dress Run. About 120 of us ran the sketchy streets south of Fremont and Atomic was one of the high points (with the Double Down as THE high point, but that's another story).
Atomic's a total dive, reminiscent of what a dive would look like in the early 70's. I was waiting for Superfly to wander in at any moment. He would have been deterred, however, by a quasi-homeless lady who appointed herself as the keeper of the velvet rope, declared the place was over the occupancy limit, and filtered people in by the twos once she deemed them acceptable.