New state and I find myself yet again drawn to these mysterious abandoned structures. Every new building is another moment of pure excitement and each clue to the existence of this other life expands the picture of what was before. In the midst of this abandoned space I feel the presence of what was as I follow these items left behind like bread crumbs, reading them like a story in braille. With history remaining only in an infrastructure of faded love letters, old books and lonely furniture, I write my own story of the people whose footsteps wore a path in that sloping old porch that beckoned me.
I was lucky to spot the second old building while driving out into the country for a photo assignment. I can't imagine that peanut salesman gets much business on that old highway, but you never know. The old decaying beast sitting behind the mobile peanut bar was built in the 1920s and then much later suffered a top floor collapse according to local legend.