I met some people living at Damen.
One was named Gon. I’m spelling it like how it sounded. Tall, skinny, wiry guy with a mop full of dry hair that had not seen the blessings of shampoo in a while. His high-pitched, staccato voice fit his figure.
Another was named Emily — true to her gender, she had an immaculate room. There was one other guy — his name was Mickey. Chubby, hunched-over middle-aged guy with sticky hands that have not seen the light of soap in a while. You never want to cringe while shaking somebody’s hand, but there are those rare occasions where keeping a straight face can be tough.
Gon and Mickey were both somewhat…idiosyncratic in speech and mannerisms. Mickey moreso than Gon. Nice guy, but one of those folks you can never have a real conversation with. Talks to you, but never really addresses your responses.
Never had a chance to meet Emily.
Not sure what I think about people squatting, fixing up and modifying a place they don’t own — I’m a fan of abandoned buildings as museums. And once someone makes a location their home it then starts belonging to them — urbexers are no longer free to traverse the location. But to give the squatter gang credit, they did an impressive job fixing that place up.
Gon had a cell phone. He pulled it out to take a call from his mom. I’m pretty sure I raised an eyebrow in perplexion at the time. How did he own his cell phone? Did his mom know where he was?
There are many ways to live a life.
There was some impressive graffiti. One particular empty warehouse has essentially become a gallery.
Free — my favorite cost of admission.
Apologies for the blurry pictures. My camera phone sucks (I am one of the few people in the world that does not own a Canon DSLR). And also, I took these pictures with an unsteady, surreptitious hand. I felt somewhat uncomfortable blatantly taking pictures without permission.