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| - I have an abundance of complaints about Sin City. The people, the extreme heat, the extreme cold, the culture clashes and lack thereof, the nausea-inducing unnecessary parading of silicone-filled flesh, the Hollys and the Madisons of the moment, the fried dreams and burnt ambitions, the construction.
But, there is something about the fearless honesty of the numerous impostors on which this city is built, something that sneaks up and endears itself to my heart, vulnerable once every two weeks.
I like the name "Neon Boneyard" better than "Neon Museum", I've visited many less-than-mediocre museums in this town, and only one fabulous boneyard. The graves of old neon lights is a place where the true spirit of Vegas resonates from the crevices of all its rawness. If only those signs could talk, I would be more than happy to leave Vegas Present to be among apparitions of mobsters, prostitutes, gamblers, and tourists of Vegas Past. Visit when the sun is about to set, and look at the lights through the lens of your camera, that limited and frozen image at the dying of the day is something that haunts you, in a good way.
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