I liked the way sunlight was casting sharp shadows on the distressed textures of this abandoned red caboose on a railway that once brought life to towns on the banks of the Mississippi river.
The weather had turned artist, flaking off the red paint on the wooden door and metal sills to reveal patches of orange, gunmetal and terracotta. I’d not like to guess when this carriage would have been in its prime – it’s probably less old than I’d imagine.
I like railways: they’re reflective places, forcing us to take a passive role. I’m just sorry that so many of America’s railroads have fallen silent.