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RENOpolis

“You a cop!” shouted the girl, as I took a photograph of the Wonder Lodge.

 

She was all of eighteen or nineteen, with disheveled dyed hair–auburns and blonds matted together. 



“I’m not a cop,” I explained to her.

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She looked at me even more confused.

 

“So then why are you taken’ a picture of this ole’ motel?” she said in a curious, yet, indignant manner.



It was a good question. Why would anyone but the police or demolitionists be interested in this derelict building? It was a run-down and decrepit motel off 4th Street in downtown Reno, after all.



“I like the look of these old motel signs,” I said. ”You can find them all around Reno. I like the 50s and 60s look of them.”



The girl approached and stood next to me.  She reeked of cigarettes.

 

She got a good view of the sign from my perspective and exclaimed, “I guess there is a certain amount of nostalgia in these old motel signs.” She paused for a moment. ”Just don’t go into any of the rooms.” She gave a sharp laugh and walked away.  

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