i originally posted this in the strangest/craziest thing youve seen while bombing, but realized that it would probably be more relevant here...
this isnt as strange or crazy as some of the other stories on here, but its still worth telling. one day, several months ago i carefully slid through the small hole in a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire, and stepped out onto the trash strewn ledge about a foot and a half below, where leafless trees grew next to the deteriorating brick wall of an old industrial building whose purpose i neither knew nor cared about. i then proceeded to walk down a narrow path winding from side to side down a short wall of natural rock and onto the train tracks below. from here, i quickly ducked into the shadow of an overpass to avoid being spotted by any passerby. surrounded by rusty shopping carts, dirty condoms, and some fresh, new silver graffiti, i surveyed the natural rock cliffs which lay to either side of the tracks. i was alone and without cans, on more or less of a "reconaissance" mission, to get photos and come back sometime in the near future to paint. after standing under the overpass for a few more minutes, i dashed out into the open, to the mouth of a tunnel lying a little more than half a football field away.even in broad daylight, the tunnel was still full of shadows and darkness, and i was more than a little eager to get out to the next stretch of fresh air not far ahead. as i walked i noticed an open doorway in the side of the tunnel, with a door made of rusting sheet metal. inside, was a stairway, inky blackness, and a strange odor. i decided id come back on my way out of the tunnel. after going some ways ahead, and deciding id had enough for the day, i came back and stopped by the doorway. i went inside a little bit to see if my lighter would make a dent against the darkness, but it was no use. instead, i decided to take a flash photograph, and see how it turned out when i got home. after taking several pictures of the stairs, i wandered a few feet away to take some more photos of whatever graff i had missed coming in. all of a sudden, a stout, clean looking man is standing behind me. i turn around, suprised, ready to make a run for it. i soon realize that he's homeless, but i never wouldve guessed. hes standing by the doorway, carrying a large yellow flashlight. we start talking about graffiti, and he tells me he writes "________" . he also informs me that he lives in the dark stairway i had seen(which turns out to be an old emergency exit), and had come to investigate the flash from my camera. he invites me to come see his "place" and at first im a bit hesitant. however, i decide to go, and with a firm hand on the switchblade in my pocket, i follow him into the darkness.even his flashlight barely penetrates the sheer blackness of this place. the steps feel wet under foot, and every now and then, my foot touches some unknown object. there is an odd stench, one not of homelessness, trash, and stale urine, but instead of something closer to ammonia and other strong cleaning detergents, which i find very strange. after ascending at least 6 flights of steps, we finally reach what appears to be an alcove at the top of the steps, which is at street level. next to it is another door, which is framed in daylight that shines through the cracks in the doorway. here, there is several mattresses on the floor, some clothing and other things. my guide introduces himself as _______, and tells me that he's been living here for 10 years, completely outside the confines of the government and society.the people who maintain the housing projects next to which this emergency exit is located bring him food and water in the morning and at night and turn on the lights in the exit when it gets to be too dark. he then tells me wild stories about his drug dealing friends, the prostitutes he knows, etc. at one point he pullls the covers off his mattress to expose two needles full of heroin. after more talking i tell him i have to be on my way, and he simply unlocks the door and lets me out into the street. i walk away feeling stunned. for ten years, hes been living in there, not having to work, pay taxes, and do all the other things which the ordinary citizen does. but at the same time, hes not living in the best of conditions, barely has enough to get by on, and is a drug addict. i wonder if by trying to escape the system, he has really become more of a victim. either way, he seems content. i have not been back to those tunnels since, and i wonder whether or not i will ever go again. probably, sometime this summer, i will find myself crawling through that hole once again, down the path, and onto the tracks...
