The 10 o’clock show at the Ritz bringing late-night life to downtown Clearfield, Pennsylvania.
There is a magic time between sunset and when the coolest sign in town gets turned off that pulls me away from the interstate to see what any given place has to show me.
After being on the road all day and just a dozen miles from home we came upon Coy’s Pizza on US 422 at the crest of Nolo Hill in the wilds of Western Pennsylvania. We took a vote; home sooner, or pizza. Pizza was just too pretty not to win.
Late December at the Arlington Diner in North Arlington, New Jersey, is like being in a Sopranos Christmas Special. I got a slice of cherry cheesecake to go. They gave me a cake box. I said I only wanted a slice. They said that is a slice.
Dusk before the storm at the Dairy Queen in Paynesville, Minnesota. The gust front bent trees over and it seemed like a tornado was about to strike. Five cars pulled out of the lot. One van pulled in. And me.
Detroit dark and desolate after sunset except for that one block of Greektown.
An old-timey 1988 motel strip at dusk along US 62 outside Niagara Falls, New York.
Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas. Nothing like it.
Washington & Roosevelt, the last Good Gulf in Carteret, New Jersey.
Broadway straight to the waterfront, a 1994 remnant of San Francisco’s old red light district.
Late-night on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, the neon at the Bedford Exit always drew me into Ed’s Steak House. When the sign came down, I stopped stopping.
Seattle’s Public Market, 19 minutes to 9.
An early blizzard hit Schroon Lake, but Pitkins glowed like an oasis for what was to them just another winter night in the Adirondacks.
Once I watched night envelope Chicago behind a giant, glowing tower of booze rising from the bar at the New East Side Hyatt. Top shelf was hard to get.
The all-nite hot dog stand was once a standard in every town in America. The Texas Tavern in Roanoke, Virginia, upholds the tradition. Hamburg? Hot Dog? $1.30.
While skirting the outskirts of Manitowoc, Wisconsin, I came upon the Penquin, Home of the Big Penny. I hate when someone asks me what I want on my hamburger. I want you to have a Big Penny! Or some other secret-sauced named-sandwich. Don’t make me do your job.
Late-night Palisades Park, New Jersey, where it is 100% Korean 100% of the time. No subtitles. I’ll take the…100%…thing.
Scranton, The Electric City. They call it that because of the elec-tri-city.
Some of the best nights I’ve had in Washington have ended at Ben’s Chili Bowl on U Street. How I got to Ben’s Chili Bowl is sometimes not so clear but being at Ben’s Chili Bowl is never forgotten.
After driving across the desert from dawn till dusk I rolled into Reno, Nevada, wanting only a r oomph ones and color cable TV. Fortunately, the Golden West had a vacancy.
Deep in the mountains surrounding Williamson, West Virginia, with nothing beyond but dark, Stacey and I strolled weary from the road into the Mountaineer to ask for a room. The counter clerk looked at us, paused, and said, maybe. She went into a back room to confer, returned and said, no, casting us back out into the dark.
Written and photographed by Kevin.
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