Posted by MisUnderstood! Its like my drug of choice. It cures my curiosity and helps me ESCAPE. When i explore I am so focused on seeing other places, other lives... that i can escape my problems, my pain.

I have to agree. No matter what is happening in my life, an explore lets me escape and think about something else. What was this building for? What was it's design based on? Who used it? How many people had their normal everyday lives here and would have never have thought one day it'd be closed and some guy would come to take photos of it falling apart?

I also do it to document our time, particularly here in Rochester. It's changing a mile a minute now. New things go up, old comes down. In the early 1900s there was a guy taking photos left and right here. It's remarkable to see the changes over that 100 years. I guess I want to be like him and document life, or end of life of buildings here in Rochester and Western New York.

My motivation is a combination of the curiosity/desire to explore new places factor and the desire to document and photograph these kinds of abandoned places. I'm the kind of person who's always been fascinated by old ruins, crumbling castles, housing foundations lost in the woods - that kind of stuff.

To me, urban exploration and photography is akin to photographing, say, a medieval castle - just with a more modern subject. I try to capture the feel of the places I explore with my pictures - documenting what's there and giving others a look into the kind of emotions I find that these places evoke.

The alarm on my phone goes off. It's 4:30 in the morning and my head is pounding. Last night my drunken logic told me that putting the phone across the room would ensure that I would have to get up. I decide to ignore it, surely it'll turn off in a few minutes. I pull the covers up over my head, grab another pillow for more sound insulation and turn over.

A sharp pain slams into my ribs and I feel a kick to my shin. It jolts me awake immediately and I sit up. Lauren is mumbling to me to turn the damn thing off. Shit. Why did I decide to go out last night? I can hear the rain against the roof and the window and think that spending the day in bed with her is much better than what I had originally planned.

I stumble over to the dresser where the phone alarm is going off and I swipe the screen. In my still half-inebriated state the phone slides, hits the wall and falls back behind the dresser. Lauren is now annoyed and is asking what the hell I'm doing. Rather than answer I lean down and look for the phone which is still going off. As I do so, the rush of blood to my head makes the pounding even worse. What a fucking morning...

I find my way to the bathroom more by instinct than sight, like a blind man familiar with his surroundings. The light is a blaze behind my closed lids and I take a leak. As I look down to flush I say out loud, "What the hell did I drink last night?". The liquid waste is much darker than normal and I know I need to get some fluids in me. But first a shower.

The high pitched squeaking of the hot and cold nobs are like needles shooting through my ears and straight into my brain. Then there comes the low rumbling sound of air in the pipes. God we've gotta get outta this shithole. Just a few more weeks until graduation. Like the water that is now pouring into the tub, my own stream of consciousness flows and I think that I really should be studying today.

The hot water hits my chest and sends a refreshing jolt through my body. What is it about a shower that seems to make everything better? As the cigarette smoke and stale sweat from the night before wash down the drain, so do my doubts about what I'm doing today.

Coffee. The nectar of the gods and friend to truckers, night shift workers and members of AA the world over. As its brewing the smell already perks me up. I open the fridge. Empty as usual. A bottle of water and a piece of stale pizza from a few days ago will have to suffice for breakfast. It's now getting close to 5:00 and I know I need to hit the road - the coffee will have to come with me.

I dress quickly, grab my gear and head for the front door. I pause for a moment and think about what I'm about to do. It would be so much easier to spend the day at the apartment with Lauren. I know that if that happens I'm not going to get any studying done so I head for the car.

The roads are empty at this hour but its still an hour and a half drive to my destination. I've done it a half dozen times and know the route well. The radio is broken and I'm actually grateful. Being alone with my thoughts helps me work through life's little problems.

When I arrive, I drive around a bit and check things out. When I feel like everything is in place I park about a quarter of a mile away in a strip center filled with nail salons, doughnut shops and dry cleaners. The coffee has finally kicked in and my senses are back online. Shouldering my bag I make my way through some bushes and follow a well walked trail to a fence thats been pulled aside and walked over as much as the path.

Crouching down I look across the 300 yard open area and wait. The next shift of the security guards comes on in another half hour so I know they are sitting in the guard shack on the other side of the site. Probably just as tired as I was a couple of hour ago and bored out of their mind. I see the two high powered sodium lights still burning at the front of the building. I chuckle thinking about all of the others that have been broken out, these only remaining because they're close to the guard shack.

I begin to move. As I walk quickly across the long expanse, gravel from the old parking lot crunching under my feet, my eyes dart left and right constantly scanning for any signs of movement. This is when the adrenaline starts to kick in and all senses are on hyper-alert.

I make it to the building and stop. Silence. I then begin to move towards an old door thats half hanging off its hinges and freeze. The high pitched sound of metal scrapping on metal sends a shock through my by body like a thousand volts. Waiting. Now waiting some more. I am now conscience of a high pitched ringing in my ears they are straining so much to hear any signs of movement. After what seems like hours but was only a few minutes I make my entrance.

The stale smell of decay fills my nostrils. Its as familiar to me as my own family and one I love just as much. As I enter the doorway, I move immediately to the left an wait...listening. The only light is coming through the doorway and its very faint. Darkness fills every corner and I listen for any other sounds. Silence.

I sling my backpack off and dig for the gear I know I'm going to need for my journey. The first order of business is a flashlight. The old maglight mini is perfect for this occasion. Small, bright, but not blazing so as to attract the attention of the guards. I pull on my gloves next. They are tight and sticky. I chuckle to myself as I put on the right one with the tip of the index finger cut off. It was a great idea and one that has helped over the years. Next is the respirator. God I hate this thing. My hair is pulled slightly as I fit it over my face. That neoprene smell never goes away as I inhale my first breath. It takes a couple of deep inhales to finally get used to it. I then find a small canister of pepper spray which goes in my right pocket and my multi-tool in my left.

One last thing. I pull out my cell phone and send a quick message to Lauren. It reads, "Good morning sweetheart I hope you slept well. See you soon". Send. Then a few button pushes and I'm sending her my location for the next 24 hours (she doesnt need to know where I am ALL the time...).

I shine the light around the room. It hasnt changed since my last visit 8 months ago. Busted out sheetrock from the copper scrappers. Their gaping holes negative canvas for the graffiti "artists" that seem to love this place. Their multi-colored works fill almost every inch of whats left of the walls. It's like visiting a degenerate art gallery. Everything ranging from 6 foot high lettering thats abstract to everyone other than gang members and other taggers to the obligatory penis and balls done by some 12 year old.

I make my way down the darkened hall, walking softly over the crumbling wood floor. Dampness, decay and time have not been kind to this old place and its imminent destruction to make way for another strip center full of more commercial garbage is only months away.

I walk slowly and softly, constantly listening and looking for anything out of place. As I do so I think about the people who used to work here. This was their second home. Their problems, hopes, worries, fears were no different than mine. They came here and interacted with their coworkers just like the rest of us. There were arguments, drama, hell probably even some sex going on in these old offices. But it was no different than today. The littered papers scattered everywhere and broken furniture speak to a past thats gone and forgotten to most. Even the punk kids that call this place their playground dont think about what went on here. To them its just a place to party. For others its a place to sleep or shoot up drugs.

I find the stairs and make my way up, hugging the wall for more support. Each step as carefully planned as any military campaign. Three stories later I'm on the top floor. I shine my light down the long hallway and see no movement. Again I make my way through the rubble stepping over spraypaint cans, papers and the occasional syringe to my final destination.

Nobody understands why I do this. My friends, my family, my co-workers all wonder why. Why would I risk injury, death, longterm health problems, potentially career ending arrest to wander around through some old building thats just going to be torn down anyway? They just dont understand and probably
never will the experience and the feeling when you see this.

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