About this location

Inner-city residential location filled with thick, grimy, black cobwebs in the corners of every room and painted rainbow handprints plastered everywhere. Slipping in the side door here feels like walking into a deranged flea market... one where instead of antiques, the tables are stacked with rotting food packages and broken dreams. The kitchen floor groans under your feet--not from age, but from the sheer weight of the pile of greasy pizza boxes in the corner of this shithole. People always say never to open the fridge, but I almost always like to take photos of the disgusting food leftovers. Not this time though. Although I'd like to blame it on having left my P100 in the car, the truth is I was worried that the fridge might be a portal to Hell. And this is just the dry and relatively mold-free main level: the sopping basement is a whole other set of worries. I couldn't help but wonder if this location was the closest I'd ever get to experiencing what it feels like to live inside an actual garbage compactor.