The neon graveyard

The neon graveyard

Way off the strip is an area where few tourist ever go. Its a cemetery. An enterrement of Vegas's past, a place where old neon signs go when they die. Their useful expectancy extinguished not by age or function, but by form. Considered antiquated by modern marketing, here they lie, martyrs in Cupids wars (love, lust, and sin) They remain in a lot surrounded by a security fence with barbed wire. Relics shining in the hot Nevada sun like the fuselage of a wrecked bomber in the desert, who's occupants abandoned in search of rescue, only to be consumed by the elements and scavenging birds. In this case, it was the plaintiff scrum of normal people seeking a Caligula's playhouse. It is a testament to an era long gone. Crooners and class have given in to ass. Sex will always win. Even the sin sign could not last.

Awesome view from each room at the Plaza

The mob is no more as the corporations have taken over. There was a low rent charm to the old Vegas. Walking downtown in the old Glitter Gulch which is hard to recapture with the low hanging ceiling to the Fremont Street Experience. You can't see it from a distance as in the past and the vanishing point view of the Plaza Hotel. Behind it south of Fremont is the Greyhound Bus Station

and some flop house apartments renting rooms by the week. Glitzy.