Brown ferric blood drips nightly from these steel structures and has tarnished my once brilliant surface like old forgotten silverware. A constant hum of high voltage transformers and the buzz and crackle of agitated electrons dancing about the wires are my only reminders of the builders of these corroding buttresses. For even the roar of steam locomotives carrying anxious travelers has been replaced by that of the frozen lake during the winter months. As the moon's nightly sojourn across the milky way nears completion, dawn begins to peak through the stillness. Suddenly, the flow of electricity dies and a foreboding lull of silence overcomes me.
Hours pass and the station remains shutdown.
The light the sun sheds on old No. 2 does little the relieve the anxiety of powerlessness. The minutes tick away like hours. Large yellow trucks carrying heavy equipment arrive and surround the compound. Dismantlement is eminent I fear. However, a curious redheaded onlooker helps to ease my fear.