There was surprisingly little graffiti.
A strange green monster, a few gang tags with tridents and crude pentagrams, and a…hornet with an eye patch?
Leslie pulled herself through the gap in the chainlink fence.
It was a school once, then a drug rehab, now a shell.
Photography sounded like a fun elective.
She wasn’t good.
Worst in the class, to her own eye, and by grade.
The assignment was abandoned architecture, black and white.
She walked through a door and up three stairs that still looked sturdy.
There was some booze left in a pint bottle that leaned against the top stair.
She called “Hello,” determined to run if anyone answered in any way.
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