There’s a hamburger joint out on Rt. 40 with a huge sign that used to be red neon, the last of the old-skool signage left on that stretch of roadway. It’s been painted and the patina is gone now, but for years it was a lovely peeling white and black, just waiting for a long lens to capture its beauty. In the back of the parking lot, almost hidden by bushes, sits this entrance sign, equally as retro and time-worn, but ignored by the march of progress.