This old gas station sign in the middle of nowhere caught my eye as I drove down a rural, two-lane highway in North Carolina last week, and I stopped to photograph it. Now it feels like the perfect imperfect visual metaphor for a new year.
Who took the time to scrub the logo from the sign (on both sides) anyway? And why? How? And for that matter, what happened to the gas station? My photograph might have been more compelling from a different angle and at a different time of day, with low sunlight radiating through the absent logo, but when you feel yourself being watched from behind the curtains of a remote mobile home I often think it's best to do what you're going to do and move along. Poignant indeed.
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