As I box up all the dumpsteriffic stuff from the garage so we can park two cars inside, I've been making trips to our storage space this week.
There are few places more lonely than a storage lot on a late weekend afternoon. I've never seen another person there. Most of the spaces are occupied by stuff people no longer need but can't seem to throw away. Family "heirlooms," bikes no longer ridden, golf clubs no longer used (because I SUCK at it), boxes full of divorce file folders and other various and sundry junk. (this is a shot of our particular storage space, complete with large pink flamingo)
There are lonely, partially wrecked cars parked all around with flat tires and broken windows, a dumpster for move-outs, and tumbleweeds. There's just something melancholy about the place.
While there I snapped a few pictures and wondered how long it would be until someone else happened along.