It was never a clean place. Constant maintenance couldn't compete with the raining dust and plaster.
The music and laughter gone now, too... moved away to another rotting space, and soon, another to follow.
There were arguments, often several times a week...
The same argument over and over many times before finally changing to a new conflict.
Hookers, teachers, drunks, bums, the insane, the infirm, the dying, the children, they all stayed here for a time.
It was loud.
It was crude.
That last day there were people removing body parts from the rafters.
The grand, silent elevator is now more so.
The floors are dry.
The gates are locked.

(1998, Mel Grubb II)

Last updated 10/05/01 Site contents Copyright © 1999-2001 Mel Grubb II