One of the churches pictured in stores turned into churches is in this shopping center. Again, I expect others to see less here than I do, because even if I don't remember specific incidents, there are ghosts filling the deserted spaces of the photos.
A few impressions run through my mind now that hardly qualify as incidents: the parking lot on a hot, still day; going to buy a shirt; walking or driving by on the way somewhere else. But then most of life is spent in the spaces in-between.
And maybe that's why these pictures, full of sky and pavement, appeal to me. A place that was vital falls silent and becomes part of the background. Because roads were re-routed away from it; "undesirable elements" (read: loitering teenagers) were attracted to it; the neighborhood around it went to seed; or a newer shopping center opened further down the freeway.
And all those things conspired to close Merv's (Mervyns?), the store pictured here.
I'm a big fan of wide open spaces like deserts, even though I know they're almost as unfriendly to life as outer space. Deserted structures remind us that life is fleeting; and as uncomfortable as that thought can be, it can also lead to a longer-term view of life -- in general, and over human history -- that's as deep in its way as the most intense burst of living.
I'm always attracted to the stalwart light pole in the photo on top. I think that combination of empty/abandoned space and isolated figure has something to do with "presence" in a picture.
And, being a fan of travel essays about Central Asia, the faded name of the store reminds me of the city of Mirv, on the Silk Road to Samarkand and Bukhara, that thrived for a while, then faded into the landscape.