In the middle of the night I drove out to a farmhouse snuggled up right next to the highway. I was supposed to be staying there for a day or so, but it had been abandoned just long enough to welcome in decay.

Cut to a bus ride.

It feels like a wonderfully sunny and hot day and we’re pulling in to what should be a station in 1960s West Coast America. There was a monorail track hanging up from the sidewalk. It may as well have been Disneyland, if it weren’t really a hospital. We go into the concession that’s really an old man’s living room. The shag carpet has been keeping souvenirs of the lives that lived there. Oak and brass furniture. I ask the old man if I can purchase some film and we take a look inside his television cabinet.

He hands me twelve cans of Whiska’s cat food, and four rolls of black and white film.