Into the Gila: Squatter’s Paradise III


Though no one had occupied this house for some time, I could not help but feel anxious while photographing the ruins. As if with each shutter release, I was stealing a piece of the past.

My eyes rummaged through the rooms. Toothbrushes were neatly placed in their sink side holder. Monopoly money was scattered in a surreal display across the kitchen. On the shelves sat pots, pans and coffee cans. The cupboard backs were collaged with bingo cards, vintage Life Magazine clippings and iconic posters; marking the years like the rings of a tree trunk.
To know what these walls had seen would have probably kept me out. The unease of being in such a bizarre place began to set in. My pounding heart signaled it was time to go. As I walk back to the truck, the wind whistles through the trees—as if to warn that some dark soul was coming home to roost.

I am the uninvited.
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