OLD JAIL FOR AN OLD PHOTOGRAPHER

I like to wander around new places when I am away from home. At least, I did until my old car gave me trouble and the engine died. Now I try to venture closer to civilization and cell service, just in case. Still, I find myself in southern Maine on a road that looks like it should be well-traveled, but it simply isn't at the moment. No worries -- I'm still in cell range just in case disaster strikes yet again.

I have a habit of coming across old school buildings. So, this particular morning, I find myself outside of the Town House School. It's an old building, 1900 to be exact, situated on a small tract of land that also houses an old jail and the old Clark Shipbuilding Office. Directly across from the little village of buildings is a cemetery. 

In other words, I am pretty much alone out here.

I have both my phone and my camera with me. Yes, my camera. I recently discovered that Google Photos will not easily nor readily transfer to external sources, so I decide to go old-school (excuse the pun) when photographing old schools. But, as technology is these days, phone pictures upload to the internet with remarkable rapidity. Basically, I'm two-hands deep with two different cameras taking pictures that I probably don't need, anyway, but cannot help myself from taking.

I grab some photos of the buildings, wander over to the cemetery, mosey around for a bit, then head back toward my car, which is parked near the old jail. I wonder if I can see well enough inside through the windows in order to see what exactly is inside the old jail. 

As I get up close, I realize that one glass pane is missing from a higher part of the window. No problem. I hold my cell up and snap a photo, hoping for the best.

Perfection! The picture clearly shows both the old cells and the beamed ceiling. I start scrolling through the group of photos I've taken, both on the phone and on the camera roll, when it suddenly hits me. What if the police should come by, or any witness for that matter, and wonder why there is a broken pane on the window. No one else is around, right? I mean, maybe I busted the glass trying to get an up-close and personal look inside the place. Maybe I'm a vandal!

Notorious for being caught in the wrong places at exactly the wrong times like the proverbial kid with the hand in the cookie jar, I jump in my car to make a get-away. This is precisely when traffic starts. It's as if it is suddenly rush hour out here in the middle of nowhere. I haven't seen a car in at least twenty minutes, and now it's so busy going both directions that I cannot pull out on to the road in either direction. If someone broke that window within hours of my arrival, there are at least two dozen witnesses who can place my out-of-state butt at the scene of the crime. 

I probably should've checked if the building door was unlocked and just put myself into one of those jail cells. A guilty conscience is a terrible thing to have if one is contemplating a life of crime.