Bridge of Bally's.

The Story

Steel painted in neon, the river holding it twice. Cities at night make their own constellations.

I had been driving back from a wedding shoot when the sky finally went dark enough for the bridge to show its colors. I parked illegally, ran to the rail, and waited for the wind to flatten the river. Long exposure, tripod on a railing, a prayer. The Bally's sign in the corner was the unexpected gift — neon pretending to be a moon.