A friend asked me today what Treasure Island is like.
I suppose for people who haven’t been on military bases, let alone abandoned military bases, it’s a little bit difficult to describe. To begin with, all the streets are very odd and confusing. We live, for example, at the corner of [one street] and [another street], but there’s another intersection of [one street] and [another street] right down the block from us. Luckily our friends live in that corner house, so either way we’ve got our bases covered.
They water the lawns in the front, so it looks like some sort of green paradise, and the backs are left scraggling and dying, because the public won’t really see them. Behind our house is the abandoned school, with cracked pavement and boarded windows.
I’m not sure this place is for everyone. I really like it, but then again I like decaying industrial wastelands. There’s a certain something about them that captivates me. But yes, the water is toxic, and they told us not to mess with the paint because there’s asbestos, or maybe lead, or they’re not really sure actually.
Treasure Island was built on fill. It’s subject to liquification in an earthquake, which is a polite way of saying that the whole Island could sort of collapse in on itself, and melt.
But the sun is out, and there’s a tree right outside my window rustling in the breeze. The Blue Angels have called it a day, apparently, and blessed silence holds sway again. I can see the busy skyline of San Francisco but here kids are playing soccer in the street and a lady is walking a dog. It’s like a little toxic village. We pirates are all in this together.
And yes, there are phones here.