American decay, surrounded by profit and possibility. Twice during this shoot people feel compelled to walk up and ask if I know how dangerous the neighborhood is, and twice I laugh: "Been here before." But in one abandoned warehouse I see eyes and gaunt faces looking out at me, so I nod and take two steps closer, shoot, nod again, and walk away at a 45-degree angle. No panic, but defeat. I can feel the tension on my neck, as if I am connected to a socket with thin wire. But the tingling on my skin is all flight and no fright, certainly no fight.