Somewhere, Bruce Springsteen is playing while an exceedingly furry man tunes his Ford truck in the driveway of a house he built with his bare hands. This is for that person.
A 1960s style TV set in a sun room at the back of the poor house. The concrete room survived the roof collapse and was full of rotten children’s books and toys. Perhaps it was where donations were sorted, or perhaps it was a nursery/orphanage area.
On the boarded-up first floor of the house proper near the door to the chapel, the last pew sites next to a wet box of Bibles.
A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
One thing I like about the oppressive globalist-wrought future is the idea of numerically subdividing spaces; my geek side sort of wants to live in a flat that can be sorted by as Dewey Decimal-like code.
Looking up the rock house.
Before the clouds broke, I snapped this profile of the dumping control room and its spiral staircase. These are the colors that I dream in.
Leather shoes in a supply closet. They seem to me men’s shoes.