Worn wooden floors, devoid of any stain or varnish, yet full of character. The floor moves a little under your feet. There are pieces of sheet metal in various spots, patching holes. You can smell history in this place. The past has a musty odor. I come here often, usually on a whim, lack of anything better to do, but rarely for a specific reason or item. I just like to walk around, take it all in.
There must be a million stories in this place. A 6 foot long carrot. School project? Some farmers sign maybe? Hard to say really, but a fine thing to look at and ponder.
A Jesus, coated in aluminum paint, hanging from a wrought iron Gothic cross. It must weigh 50 pounds. Maybe whoever made it did so as penance for a multitude of sins, the weight symbolic of the heavy burden of them on the makers conscience.
A life size dummy, canvas torso, reclines on a fainting chair, some joker put a red rubber ball between its legs. No hidden symbolism there, just me being a smart ass.
Flashes of color coated memories from my childhood jump out at me from every corner of this old, barely converted, warehouse. I had this lunchbox, or my grandparents had glasses like that, almost tasting the sweet tea Clara made, that couldn't be replicated by anyone else. You can see things you haven't thought of or seen in 30 years, things you didn't even recall until the second you see them and it all comes rushing back to you as if it were just yesterday.
It's a living, breathing , time machine. In a few steps you can go from 1930 to 1970 and beyond, then back again. I make up commercials in my head, like this one. "When a forty just wont do"
I imagine we all have some certain place that we frequent for no particular reason, no special purpose, just to take it all in. To get lost for an hour or two. I go here. You might even run in to me if you ever happen to go there. I'm easy to spot, just look for the guy who looks a little out of place among the well heeled hipsters and the grungy artsy types.
