Fremont Street in the heart of Downtown Las Vegas hits like a neon blast to the cortex. Casino bulbs scream in unison as the canopy above vomits light in a permanent sunrise. Tourists, hustlers, locals and freaks churn together while showgirls, dudes in gorilla costumes and muscle-bound Marines hoist giggling visitors for tip-jar selfies.
Anywhere else, five Swedes in warpaint and black PVC outfits that look like they belong to some dark circus would draw some perplexed stares. Here, they’re just another attraction moving with the current.
