One of my favorite experiences is the opportunity to walk through an abandoned space, particularly a home that was once occupied but left in tact (or somewhat in the case of squatters). It often offers a rich context in which and how someone once lived in this space and without the benefit of a narrator, it leaves me with the task of imagining the lives of the previous inhabitants.  The stories that unfold are probably a lot richer than the reality, however it is not just a place for the physical to occupy but a place for my imagination to construct a culture and relationships that may or may or not have occurred.

A few miss matched dishes carelessly tossed in the sink with plastic flatware and drips down the counter with invoke an image of a frazzled single mother cajoling her small children to comply with the necessity of a quick meal and the focus to move swiftly to navigate within a constrained timeline.  Newspapers stuffed under a radiator and a t-shirt fused to the configuration of the top of that spiny radiator conjures up a image of a spontaneous spill and a quick change