Somewhere between Sheridan and Federal Boulevard...

The bike trail appeared to be at an end. What a crumby area to end up in. Not much around, it seemed. No parks, stores, restaurants, and the houses nearby didn't look very impressive either. Beat up old cars in some of the yards, litter all over the place amongst the tall grass, and what appeared to be a few abandoned industrial buildings down the block. And next to the industrial stuff, a vacated house, mostly burned down.

Now this might have potential for exploration. A fence surrounded the area, but the gate was open. A sign next to it cautioned, "Warning, Hard Hat Area." Curious as a cat, I entered on the dirt road, which was overgrown with weeds.

All the structures were covered with multiple layers of graffiti. Trash lay scattered on the ground. An old refrigerator lay on its side on the ground, along with some other appliances. I went over to one of the circular buildings whose exact purpose I could not discern, and stepped inside through an opening in the wall.

Already, my mind had flagged this as a potential squatting zone, should I ever feel the need to further my urban survival skills by spending a few nights without a normal place or money in the big bad city.

Since this structure was made of concrete and brick, I had little fear of anything caving in on me, but it never hurts to be careful. The floor was covered with broken glass. In the middle of the concrete floor, there was a giant opening into a space below, at least 3 meters down.

I wandered around into the various rooms, and saw a lot more trash, more broken glass, and some old clothes and shoes. Then it occurred to me that I was almost certainly not the only one with the idea to lodge here, although whoever else had been here probably did so under far more desperate circumstance than myself.

Curiouser than ever, I found a stairway down to the bottom basement level, where I had seen the pit opening into. Much darker and spookier down there, I saw spray paint cans scattered everywhere. The paintbrushes of the disenfranchised creative spirits.

I looked deeper, and saw more trash. More clothes. Smaller ones. In the corner, there was a mattress, less than a meter and a half long. Only a child could fit on it. Its placement here was too deliberate to be an accident. If someone were just throwing away an old mattress, would they take the time to bring it to the darkest corner of the bottom story of an abandoned, broken down building?

This was not trash. This was, or had been, some little kid's bedroom. Probably between the age of 5 and 12.

I shuddered, looked around one more time, and exited the building. But I was not done exploring.

Across the way, I stepped into a large garage with multiple doors, enough to hold a dozen or more cars. Most of the garage doors were left open.

I walked in, and saw on one end, a queen size matress. It was surrounded by empty 2 liter mountain dew bottles, grocery bags, ramen wrappers, dirty clothes, and glass vodka bottles. Lots of vodka bottles. One of the vodka bottles sat atop the mattress. I wondered how long it had been since somebody had stayed here.

Up the stairs, there was a makeshift loft. I walked up gingerly, and at the top, saw a square of loose carpet and a blanket laying atop it. Another bed.

I went back down and circled the floor next to the queen size matress again. I stopped. There it sat, amidst the trash, next to my foot. For the first time, I bent down let my bare hand touch one of the dirty objects. I turned it over, and saw the face.

A tiny little doll. Plastic head and arms, with a stuffed cloth body. It was missing one eye.

Next to it, not a meter away from the big mattress, lay a square pad of foam, which appeared to be taken from the inside of a couch cushion. Near to it, a tiny little purple shirt. I picked that up as well, and examined its size. This is where the baby slept.

It was too much. I didn't know who had lived here, or if they would ever be back. But on the chance that it was still inhabited, I didn't feel right trampling around in it. I put the doll and shirt back as close as I could get it to the way it had been, and took my leave.

On the way out, I saw a 2 liter size bottle of Sierra Mist on the porch of the burned down house. It was still 1/4th full of liquid. The Shrek 2 promo graphics on the label identified it as a recent vintage. My curiosity again was overwhelming.

I picked up the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and filled my mouth. Yep, it bore the familiar flavor of high fructose corn syrup. I swished the warm, sweet, sticky liquid around in my mouth for a moment. Sickened by the thought of what I had just done, I spit out half a mouthful. I swallowed what was still there.

If there is a disease to be had, let me take just a small bit of it so I can become inoculated.

I put the bottle of watery corn syrup back, figuring there may be somebody else who needs it more than I. Maybe I shouldn't have even taken that mouthful.

I took my leave of the area, and continued eastward. The bike path resumed itself, and I soon found myself standing next to Federal Bouldevard. I looked at the nearby businesses. A gentleman's club. An adult book and movie store (two of them, in fact). An auto repair place.

Still in a "what the hell" mood, I wandered into one of the dimly lit adult stores, and strolled around, glancing at the movies and magazines. Honestly, it was the last thing I really wanted to buy right now. Somehow, the experience from a few minutes before hadn't left me in any kind of sexual mood whatsoever. Besides, when I am in the mood for porn, the Internet has far more satisfying stuff to offer. Finally, since I didn't have any specific plans to board any commercial airliners in the near future, I realized that I had absolutely no purpose here. I walked out.

Enough of the big bad silly world. I threw on my headphones, and turned up the tunes. Some might say it sounded like a soundtrack for some unknown mid-90s fantasy tv show. It worked for me.

At the end of my walk, I stopped and ordered a fish burrito at the nice taco place across the street. Now I think I'll drift off into a brief sleep.

Wake up America. It's right under your nose, and you don't even smell it. It's right in your face, and you don't even see it. It's mixed in your food, and you can't even taste it. Now it will devour you, one by one. And you won't even be alive enough to scream.