A place for all his buses

Waking up with a short two-hour drive ahead of us we decide to explore a bit of Clovis. Last night we saw some run down looking silos, a good place to start, as Jen loves decrepit places. As we step out of the car an ominous rusty warehouse looms over us. Jen does her best to encourage me to explore it. The closer I step, the further the oddities take shape: abandoned RVs, stacks of old printers and copy machines, piles upon piles of cardboard boxes. One of the warehouses has an open door. We creep around to it and are startled by a voice. “Why you college kids always takin’ pictures round here?”, questions a large woman on a tractor. Her form appeared to merge with the very structure of the vehicle as the folds of her abdomen curled over it. In the back of the shop we spot an old man with a Santa Claus beard blowtorching some unknown object. We quickly come up with some excuse and continue into the depths of Clovis.
Gates block off entire junkyards of organized garbage. This time I send Jen to peek through a broken glass window. She sees two staircases tunneling underground. We move on. I jump onto an old semi flat bead for a photo when a straggly haired man starts flailing his arms and approaches us. He opens his cracked lips to reveal a mouth full of stretched out corn kernel teeth. Past yellow the edges brown like a well-done egg. He extends a leathery hand to me, and I wearily shake it. Jen follows. We explain to him about our art and why we are trespassing. He insists that we enter his warehouse and look at a picture he found the other day. Jen accepts with a look of panic on her face. He leads us through a graveyard of more office appliances. Inside the only light comes through slits from uneven roofing panels. The backroom opened up to a hanger filled with four ancient buses. Jen follows him into the first bus. I can only peek through a window to get a look at what is going on. A warm glow emanates from the window and illuminates a surface textured with beads, fake jewelry, giant dollar bills and other assorted trash. Worry sets in and I make my way into the crowded bus. I bump into a cane with a goat skull garnished to the top. “Like it, I made it, see the eyes I made them ouda candy,” he cackled. I give Jen a look trying to give her a hint that we should get out of there, but she is in a trance by the mystery of it. -Aronson