I love urban decay.  It always reminds me that on a large enough time scale, the idea of permanence is an illusion.  As a child I envisioned the world as a static place – never changing, always staying the way I remember and how I experienced it.  Oh to stay that naive.  Anyway, I pass this dying (could already be dead) used car dealership on an almost daily basis always wondering what life used to animate it.  I can just picture a gentleman wearing a plaid leisure suit huryring out to greet you while you kick the tires of the ’78 Eldorado on the lot.

“This one’s a beauty,” he says slicking his hair back and adjusting his gold pinky ring.  His pomade smells of desperation.