Take away the sun, and Douglas Avenue becomes small-town Broadway, becomes a mosaic of textured cement and palm-smudged glass, the Salvation Army thrift store an all-night diner offering plastic fruit on chipped wood table. Streetlights become perfect eight-pointed stars in photographer Sean Weaver’s time-lapsed meditation on Las Vegas at night. Reminiscent of Edward Hopper’s famous painting, “Nighthawks,” Weaver’s Vegas is jaded, mysterious, a city of daisy-chained facade.
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