We drove by this spooky haunted house tavern on the way to the Ashokan Reservoir.
The entrance was barred, indicating that trespassers were not welcome. Trepidations be damned, I had to approach it for a closer inspection.
Everything about the place - the choking weeds, the peeling paint, the dusty neon beer signs - suggested it hadn't seen a patron in years.
I could almost make out an old lady rocking behind that upper window.
Just when I thought I couldn't possibly freak myself out any more, a woman appeared from around the corner, eyeing me suspiciously. She didn't mince words: "Whattaya want?" Sheepishly, I said, "A drink?" "Well, we don't open til the evening," she replied. Translation: "Skedaddle, sweetheart." I managed to take one more picture before thanking her for the info. Judging by these cans, the place does a brisk business. If I get up the nerve, maybe I'll pop in one night for a Bud. Or maybe not.
Note to downstaters: if you're on someone's property, wherever they are, they will know - it's some kind of 6th sense that city folk just aren't wired for.