Saturday, September 23


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Beside the rotting slaughterhouse's walls a wind-burst swirled dust around this device. Once someone poured that concrete base, and built… I don’t know? A ramp? Yet there is nothing behind it. It’s an unyielding step into an eerie gap. To where?

And those boards across the portal. Did they force climbing necks to bend? Things to crouch? Did they enforce some macabre final bow before… before… What? Once this place in Lancaster was the largest stockyard east of Chicago, now it’s ruins, posing for conjecture. Now it is food for the imagination to digest.

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