There are live third rails and trains moving around and we don't want any fatalities. Solis was careful not to be seen, and seemed unperturbed by risks in February during her first exploration of an abandoned 876-acre mental hospital complex on the North Shore of Long Island. He dropped down a ladder and lighted an old-fashioned miner's lamp attached to his hard hat. The three-inch open flame illuminated Solis as she followed gracefully in black boots, a Prada skirt and a short shearling coat. Asbestos insulation crumbled in the moist, still air.
Raccoon prints the size of human hands marked the steam pipes along one wall.
Solis is drawn to the mix of the grand and the utilitarian found in hospitals, and she often spends entire nights going from room to room by flashlight, mesmerized by the buildings and occasionally terrorized by her own imagination. After an hour in the dark, she led the way through a narrow brick passageway supported by steel beams dripping rusty stalactites. Several hundred yards later they climbed through a manhole into a 1960s medical building. Layers of colored paint flaked from the walls like confetti. A torn portrait of Lincoln looked up from the floor.