Seeing the relics of what was. Imaging who the previous owner was, and the journey that ended in abandonment.
Nestled between a hotel and a massive parking lot, Neon Museum is the junkyard of Vegas relics. As I walk up and down the aisles of old signs, I think back and try to image what it would have been like to see Frank Sinatra, live, in concert.
The glare from the sun illuminates some of the old bulbs from now defunct signs that will never shine in the night sky again. But, they still serve their audience. People look on and take pictures. Perhaps more so now than when the signs were in their prime.
One persons junk is another persons treasure. Props to the entrepreneur that connects the two.