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The road behind me doubles as a canvas for appropriately bored, immature graffiti (the most recent of which was painted on March 17th, 2012) and proof that the only way to deal with the underground disaster was to leave. Empty beer and spray cans (and car parts) interrupt the vulgar cartoons and existential phrases on the pavement, but not quite as impressively as the trees that grow in the median.
We're not even half a mile away from the newly constructed bypass that replaced this road and everything is silent and still. Even the animals seem to have moved on.
In the An Hour in Centralia photo essay.
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