“Somewhere between neon and dust, I found stories etched in steel and sand.”
From the blistering stillness of the desert to the sleepless pulse of towering cities, The Western World is where contradictions collide. I walked beneath sunburnt skies and blinking signs, wandered through abandoned motels and concrete jungles, always chasing the flicker of something real beneath the noise.
This gallery is a growing archive of my travels across the United States—a collection of moments stolen from highways, alleyways, rooftops, and ruins. I’ve seen emptiness stretch for miles, and I’ve felt utterly alone in a crowd of millions. I’ve photographed forgotten backroads and crowded intersections, glass towers and rusted fences.
There’s no single narrative here—just fragments. But together, they speak of a place that’s both broken and beautiful. A place where dreams fade into asphalt and rise again in the dust. A place that holds both silence and spectacle. This is not America as seen in brochures. It’s a stranger’s vision of the West—worn, vivid, and alive.
The Western World is an open road. And I’m still walking.
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