Prologue Stop 1 The walls that were once cream have been over come with a rusty blood color. Chairs are knocked over, but still in their vinyl covers. A meal sits on this kitchen table with silverware missing. No one is home. Everyone is dead. Stop 2 The cement track is cracked and weeds poke through. Glass is shattered, but the metal holders still hang. Cars sit at the starting line with missing wheels. A once welcoming clown sits in the stands like a garish reminder of what the town has become. Stop 3 The door is boarded up and the windows shattered with rocks and fear. No one sits at the plastic topped tables, but the lights burn dimly, swinging in the wind. I take my photos at each stop and move on, avoiding people. I cross the valleys and the mountains to reach my stops. My stops are dead and their people are dead. I am an urban hunter. ---- Leave comments and suggestions.