The Elmira post office. Riveting.

That burger stand on Highway 400... or Highway 11. I always get them mixed up. Further, I am not even sure 11 is the right road number.

I heart motels. But when they have two floors, I reckon they get to be called 'motor inns'. Heh. Your 'motor inn'. What's your price for flight? And finding mister right? You'll be alright tonight.

Red room with TV, small fridge, Reagan era touchtone and foot.

This picture surfaced elsewhere. It's me trying to recreate the cover to 'All Families Are Psychotic', except maybe with a pinecone up my rear.

The ridge in Bancroft. Town known for huntin', pickup truckin' and groin grabbin'. Or at least that was my observation.

The old abandoned summer camp. Or the head office, anyhow. I'm just glad Borgnine had his trusty knife. Waitaminute... it's gone..?

Toilets need social lives too; it is a stressful job accepting our waste.

Apparently no visitors get out alive.

Must have been a lodge for the male counsellors or staff.

Logs... logs.

I've always wanted my own scoreboard. Instead all I got was the 'Seconds' sign. Which, upon seeing at my parents, inspired me to finally post all these pictures online.

Churchill. Must have been called Camp Churchill.

When you are traipsing around abandoned places, you kind of have to be prepared for messages like this.

Damn me and my emo photography.

Again, a picture that has surfaced elsewhere. Those papers, if I recall correctly, were hundreds and hundreds of invoices and records. Some secretary had a case of the 'mondays'.

The famous buildings. I can't get enough of them. I want to go back, yet again.