Just south of the Giants baseball park - on the outflow of Mission Bay - sits this old warehouse and shed in San Francisco. Pier 48.

Mostly abandoned and seldom used - it is an imposing building that stretches out above the bay waters. Countless ships once surrendered their holds here -
and then departed - swollen with new bounty. Sweaty men pushed and pulled towards payday. The clamor of trucks, whistles, horns, and bells punctuated the dense, smokey air.

Now surrounded by new construction. Lost in time. The once bustling pier sits out the passing of its days - with its windows cast upon an imposing new world - detached and unfamiliar.

A new light rail car streaks up Third Street - just outside these panes of weathered glass. No need to stop.
Passengers with Ipods and occupied minds do not look up. Do not search for what the windows once held. They are gone.

Clock. Calendar. Enter:

demise.