There’s an old barn here. Hard to believe someone once dreamed of raising livestock in this place. Where once we might have long ago heard the lively braying of farm animals is now little more than a hollow shell of a building dedicated to the storage of rusting metal. The goddess Patina lives somewhere in these walls.
Things are no better outside. Behind the dank shell is a old car lift propped up by dirty old tires. There’s a moldy wooden shed leaning against it. Inside, the support beams (if they can even be called that) look as though they’ve been eaten through by sheer neglect itself.
Nearby sits a motorboat. There are broken water skis in the back. The front is punctured by what I can only assume is a harpoon meant for hunting kraken, or some other kind of colossal sea monster of legend. Moby Dick, perhaps.
Inside the garage is a sticker. “This is Hell” it says. Someone placed it there in 1972 as a gesture of ironic humor. Funny how things change.