Steam

The cloud of warm air oozing from the basement was almost welcoming this frigid and dreary morning until the dampness set in. A leaking steam pipe formed a soupy mist, which rose to the ceiling and escaped from whatever small holes it could find outside. We shook off the condensation from our flashlights and headed upstairs. Our lights clicked off as a police car slowly circled the building; the soft pre-dawn light was just bright enough to allow us to make our way through the halls.

We climbed to the topmost floor and waited for the approaching sun. The hospital was slowly awakening around us as the skeleton crew gratefully drove home to their beds. The day shift began trudging in, drinking the same watery coffee we had from the 24-hour gas station down the road. This abandoned wing was small and empty, but striking in the combination of color and decay. A layer of teal paint peeled away from the bright yellow coat underneath, covered in a top-layer of mold, and it still seemed to match the 1970s-era curtains hanging over the mesh screened windows.