this is not an unfamiliar site in these desert lands.an empty and abandoned building is as common place as stars in the sky, and just about as frequent, depending on where you're viewing.
remanence of civilization scatter the ground as far as the naked eye can see.
rusted spray paint cans, broken guitars, gears and switches belonging to god knows what clutter my mind and give my feet suitable trinkets to kick about.
a wooden fence, incapable of keeping anything out, directs you windingly past two ancient gas tanks, decorated with a cowboy and a davy crockett doppelganger, towards an empty kidney shaped pool and that sore thumb of a KOA building.
the aura of this place makes my skin crawl. something is off about it, and i definitely do not feel any sense of comfort, but my fascination of this place is unfleeting.
i make my way into the A framed structure, to witness what looks like a construction site half finished during the destruction part of the process.
holes in walls give a clear view into connecting rooms.
each step is chosen carefully as to not step on something that will result in the need of a tetanus shot.
i now realize why so many spray cans clutter the grounds outside, as i walk the interior of this buildings halls.
crude messages and drawings of paint, muddle the walls "jimmy loves suzie" "hank wuz here" "fuck you!!", hardly a stretch from our primitive cave man paintings.
a solid kick to a stubborn bathroom stall door, reveals nothing more than a decaying toilet.
just as i'm about to get my fill, at this former gas station, i get a jolt to my system.
when in an abandoned camp ground stranded in the middle of nowhere, and you suddenly hear another human's voice crack the air, it tends to send a cold stiff finger grazing down your spine.
that's when i do a turn-about seeking the source of this voice, i see the silhouette of a shaggy looking vagabond staring down at me from the top door of the A-framed building.
this is ninja mike.
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