At 590 square feet, teenaged me felt like a king luxuriating under the slanted windows in a hot tub that-perhaps thankfully-always smelled overwhelmingly of bleach. We’d almost exclusively stay crammed between a couple rooms at Luxor and Dad would occasionally splurge upgrading one to a Pyramid Corner suite. In the late 90s, my family and I would take a two-car caravan to Las Vegas once or twice per year. The Mirage was his favorite property and I would learn at his memorial that he spent his final night in his favorite city in one of these suites. This review is dedicated to the memory of my friend, Alan Reed, an even bigger Vegas fan than I.
