By Jason Bracelin
Las Vegas Review-Journal
LAS VEGAS—Waylon Jennings is on the jukebox, singing about a good-hearted woman lovin’ her good-timing man as we take a seat at a cherry-wood bar pocked with some of Nevada’s most infamous cigarette burns. “She never complains of the bad times or bad things he’s done,” Jennings’ honeyed yet wizened purr reverberates beneath a tin ceiling. “She just talks about the good times they’ve had and all the good times to come.”





