Everything has a flavor. Every inanimate object posses a shade around it; a purpose of being something more than they seem. You get along like when youre in the forest alone by yourself and nighttime is casting her cloak about the world. Your instant starts to pick up; tiny jackhammers start pounding along the within of your veins. You cause to get scared because there is a feel about the forest now. Why? What is it that has the hairs on the back of your neck sloshed with fear? What of man though and the things he has created? What of the vast concrete jungles that he has erected across the face of the Earth? Are cities and townships moreover a gathering of human life? An unaware mess of concrete architectures, cut into tiny, little manageable grid-squares by roads, much like a child divides up an insurmountable dinner party into conquerable parts. No, of course not. A city lives and it breathes. It sees all, feels all, and knows all inside its boundaries. While some parts are joyous and funny ringing with childrens laughter and hope is prevalent, others exude a life all their own that is dark and deadly. One such aspire is Fremont St, a part of Las Vegas yet separate unto herself, where a nonsocial breeze blows.
Lights, especially neon lights measure the vibrant pulse of Las Vegas.
For a city that never sleeps they are ever all important(p) providing an alluring presence, promising good times and fortunes. Fremont is no different, except here the lights are hard and brittle. The absence of light pools in dark and forbidding areas and is a promised breeding ground for the nightmares from childhood. In the light a hard lesson is learned. Take what you can get. take down though the light is artificial...
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