birdmad rain puddles and run-off around the steelyard.

little petroleum rainbows, floating as a semi-solid film on the surface, refracting the muddy light

headphones and sharp edges

abandoned stretch of sidewalk littered with broken glass. the scrapyard side of it is closed and empty, pavement fallen and cracked at the intersection from the weight of years and heavy trucks.

in the mill you can still hear the anvils at odd hours, clattering of large pipes and cylindrycal tanks being formed. sounds like the birth_cries or death_throes of giant robots on quiet nights

the garden_of_rust

little urban jackrabbits darting among the shadows, heading for the greener grounds of the cemetery up the street.

easter eggs amongst the headstones?
what's it to you?
who go