"Something went wrong." said the lonely trailer.
Along the dry creek bed and weed choked rocks lay remnants of a past life- bottles and metal thrown around like wreckage after a tornado.
Brenda and I could see the trailer from the desolate highway we were rambling down. From a distance it all screamed horror stories and tv dramas. Still, drawn to it like two moths to a giant flame, we climbed under a barbed wire fence and through the brush to get a closer look.
The desert winds had carved a route straight through the trailer, curtain scraps tangled around the broken windowpanes. Absolutely nothing was left, save some toppled over 1970s appliances and a single glass vase. An empty office stood nearby and a metal silo, bullet ridden and rusted a flaky red.
It's hard to describe the feeling that washed over both Brenda and me the moment we stepped up into the building, but the closest thing I can think of is a profound sense of calm. Neither of us wanted to leave right away and not knowing quite what to do, we stayed and watched the sun retreat.
Perhaps something went wrong, perhaps no one has ever bothered returning, but what's left is one of the most peaceful modern ruins I've ever stumbled upon.