The Sign: It was a sad day in Houston when Felix Mexican Restaurant shut its doors in Montrose. In 2008, the flagship spot, dubbed the "granddaddy of Houston Tex-Mex" by food writer Robb Walsh, closed after 60 years in business. Four years later, its iconic sign was sold in three separate pieces on eBay.

But Felix's memory—and signage—lives on in an unlikely spot: some 30 miles southwest in Richmond, Texas, off Highway 90A.

Larry's Original Mexican at 116 E Hwy 90A opened in 1960 with the help of one Felix Tijerina, the same restaurateur and civic leader busy building a Tex-Mex empire in Houston.

"They had the exact same sign," said Larry's manager Eberardo Guerrero III, except "instead of 'Felix' it says 'Larry's.'" Guerrero's grandfather, Eberardo Guerrero Sr., was good friends with Tijerina. It was Tijerina who pretty much set everything up for him.

And so the sign lives on, an elegant neon dream, part placemarker, part place maker. The three-part composition creates its own landscape. There's the ground: the buoyant green "Mexican Restaurant" built with fat, sturdy letters. The sky: the dynamic red "Larry's Original" standing as a play on itself — a billboard within a roadway sign. And the figure: An anonymous man, hidden beneath his sombrero, sitting in the shade of a cactus.

It's a quiet scene, rendered in festive color and light. A moment at once timeless — a desert landscape — and singular — the side-of-the-road neon siren song of '60s diners.

More Information Gray Matters is an elegant neon dream, part placemarker, part placemaker. For more, click here.

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The Place: Along what used to be route 59, the two-room restaurant has the carpeted feel of a neighborhood spot. They don't have a bar, but they do serve beers and margaritas. Every table comes with a chip basket and salsa. Velvety sombreros hang from the wall. Several large, tattered canvases depict scenes of the Mexican countryside.

Guerrero has fond memories of when he went to work for his grandfather and father as a teenager. "I remember working Friday, Saturday nights, seeing the sign lit up," he said, "old jukebox, nothing but country and Spanish music, all the old customers, just memories."

The jukebox is gone; they switched to stereo about ten years ago. Some of the customers he remembers as a kid have passed away. New chain restaurants popped up to serve the growing community. But Larry's remained largely unchanged.

"We've added some things, because back in the '60s, '70s, and '80s, nobody had ever heard of shrimp fajitas," said Guerrero.

About once a month, people stop and take photos of the sign out front, puzzled by the incongruity of a name like Larry on a Tex-Mex joint.

"That's just what everybody called him," Guerrero said of his grandfather. "His real name was Eberardo, but how many people can say that?" Guerrero goes by Eddie himself, same with his father and his son, Eberardo Guerrero IV.

They do good business, drawing from the highway and the nearby courthouse. Friday nights are the busiest. Guerrero likes those the best. "You see them come in happy and you see them leave happy," he said.

After the weekday lunch rush, Guerrero sits with his family by the register. His son scurries around the dining room, correcting askew chairs and tidying up. His mother hops up every time a customer comes to the front to pay the bill. But mostly they talk. Everyone from the wait staff to the kitchen crew is like family, and many actually are.

Guerrero has no interest in changing anything. He sees himself as a steward for the dream his grandfather, who had been working construction before opening the restaurant, built.

"Leave it alone," he said, especially the sign.

"It gets harder and more expensive to fix as the years go by," he said. "Back in the '60s, I guess neon was the thing. Now it's going more LED." But he could never change it, not with all it represents, from his grandfather's friendship with Tijerina to his own boyhood that he recalls every time he sees the glowing lights against the open Texas night.