These tiny Texas towns often have a Cormac McCarthy “The Road” look. Let’s see what we have today.

“Roaring” might be the word that seems to apply to our first look.

Well, there’s a going concern, but I’m not giving high marks for the rehab.

The side of the building is not particularly interested in doing any favors for the street.

The upgrade, it turns out, was not sufficient to keep the tenants.

It’s hard to call this architecture. It’s just a place.

Come to think of it, no one ever seems to have tried very hard.

Ah: a clue on the building on the right.

From the Coolie-Hat school of design.

Wonder if the pumps still work. Looks as if it’s still selling gas.

Faux stone from very long ago:

When you put the name into the very bricks themselves, it’s hard for the building to be anything else -

And good for them for surviving all these years!

It’s not off center . . . but is it?

It’s not a smaller window, partly bricked . . . but is it?

Anyone alive who worked there once?

I’m starting to get depressed. No reason for that; no reason the faded painted signs should produce any emotions, let alone rue and regret for a place I’ll never go. But. They do.

I’m thinking a sidewalk assessment might be in the cards

Or not.

It’s like a ship found in a forest, with no river anywhere around:

To what end, you might ask.

The dry bed:

Beyond this point, the ghost of the train tracks go no further.

And that is, or was, Roaring Springs, Texas.