Shadows of the timberwork and cribbing are cast across cracked lake ice. My footprints follow cat tracks.
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The bottom area of the smokestacks house storage spaces. The windows of these rooms that were never completed line up perfect.
Even in monochrome, you can probably tell what colors were over Hastings that evening: Red, White, and Blue.
This little curled yellow thing is one of the last hints that this adobe building was lived in.
The end of the new elevator. Line of bird droppings follow the fire sprinkler pipes and wires in the room.
A wide view of the steam pump room, complete with pistons (taken apart for their brass), flywheels (covered in graffiti and rust) and pressure gauges (smashed apart for fun). I guess what I’m trying to say is, I was not disappointed.
A typical building from the expanded starch line.
Death. About two seconds after the explosives were triggered.
The hospital was surrounded by walking paths that crisscrossed the front green, as it was called. Part of Kirkbride’s plan was to have ample opportunities for exercise outdoors–fresh air, especially cold fresh air, was thought to have curative properties.
I found a face.