blue ant
Well-known member
By the edge of the New Orleans French Quarter, there's a pair of abandoned buildings built next to each other. One is a small two-story business building; the other a pretty sizable shop floor. Both, as one would expect, had their windows boarded and their doors locked with iron gates.
That day, it was raining; it had stormed the night prior, soaking me and my gear, so I was desperate for a roof over my head so I could dry out. Searching for a squat, I noticed a gate left wide open in the business building, and ducked inside. The place was obviously condemned, so I could ignore the obvious gins of habitation. I slept (poorly) on the second floor that night.
The next morning, I packed up and started down the stairs, only to find that the door to the bottom floor was locked. I tried to pick the lock, failed, then shoved all of my gear through a tiny window in the wall between the stairs and the first floor, only to find out that the door that had been left wide open and the gate behind it had also been locked. I was quite thoroughly locked in.
Unwilling to give into despair quite yet, I searched for an escape route. Seeing a filthy hole in the stone wall at the back of the room, I climbed into the darkness, figuring I might as well, to find myself on the shop floor. I noticed two possible exits: one, a large hole in the wall, high above. I figured I could climb up the rot-exposed studs and beams in the walls and ceiling, and I did, until my supports collapsed and I ate shit, also destroying my way out in the process.
So, I turned to the other escape route: a tiny crack in the wall, maybe just big enough for me to squeeze my body through, if not my pack. I tried, but it wasn't nearly wide enough, and right next to it was a set of black iron bars covering a large window.
But then I realized something:
I couldn't breach the gate, but its frame was practically tissue paper. It would be easier to just make a new door.
So, I did.
I pulled out my trusty KA-BAR and started hacking away at the rotten wood of the door frame. Slowly, I scraped away at the studs in the wall, until I wedged a large wooden beam I found into the crack in the wall to pry the door open. The black iron bars came crashing to the ground in a cloud of splinters and dust. I checked the street outside, made sure nobody was around, then sprinted away, the world's biggest smile on my face.
You know why I was smiling?
Because, as they say, when God locks a door, he opens a window.
Plus I knew it would be a great story.
That day, it was raining; it had stormed the night prior, soaking me and my gear, so I was desperate for a roof over my head so I could dry out. Searching for a squat, I noticed a gate left wide open in the business building, and ducked inside. The place was obviously condemned, so I could ignore the obvious gins of habitation. I slept (poorly) on the second floor that night.
The next morning, I packed up and started down the stairs, only to find that the door to the bottom floor was locked. I tried to pick the lock, failed, then shoved all of my gear through a tiny window in the wall between the stairs and the first floor, only to find out that the door that had been left wide open and the gate behind it had also been locked. I was quite thoroughly locked in.
Unwilling to give into despair quite yet, I searched for an escape route. Seeing a filthy hole in the stone wall at the back of the room, I climbed into the darkness, figuring I might as well, to find myself on the shop floor. I noticed two possible exits: one, a large hole in the wall, high above. I figured I could climb up the rot-exposed studs and beams in the walls and ceiling, and I did, until my supports collapsed and I ate shit, also destroying my way out in the process.
So, I turned to the other escape route: a tiny crack in the wall, maybe just big enough for me to squeeze my body through, if not my pack. I tried, but it wasn't nearly wide enough, and right next to it was a set of black iron bars covering a large window.
But then I realized something:
I couldn't breach the gate, but its frame was practically tissue paper. It would be easier to just make a new door.
So, I did.
I pulled out my trusty KA-BAR and started hacking away at the rotten wood of the door frame. Slowly, I scraped away at the studs in the wall, until I wedged a large wooden beam I found into the crack in the wall to pry the door open. The black iron bars came crashing to the ground in a cloud of splinters and dust. I checked the street outside, made sure nobody was around, then sprinted away, the world's biggest smile on my face.
You know why I was smiling?
Because, as they say, when God locks a door, he opens a window.
Plus I knew it would be a great story.
