I like this picture.

A designer/photographer friend took it one windy afternoon outside an abandoned gas station in the Anza Borrego desert. It speaks to me – the composition, the imperfect details, the crumbling facade. The gas station told a story – of a failed business, nighttime squatters, and delicious hints to whoever would live next within its walls (a tattered deed fluttered on a desk inside). I spent days thinking about it, and the stories that came with it.

What can I say? I’m a writer.