On the desk of an optometrist’s office.
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...based on the tags: benches, left-behind...
When the factory’s production line was up for auction, many parts were removed, crated and labeled with big painted numbers to ease their removal by buyers. Not everything sold, however, so not one dark corner of the factory seems without a pile of dislocated industrial junk.
Instructional film strips on the floor of a second floor closer.
In the office at the end of the dock are two brooms. One is from the last ore train. One is from the last boat.
One thing I like about the oppressive globalist-wrought future is the idea of numerically subdividing spaces; my geek side sort of wants to live in a flat that can be sorted by as Dewey Decimal-like code.
Work never done.
A carefully kept journal of the ballast levels in the final years that the Ford sailed Lake Superior.
An 80s-era company crate, as found in a forgotten store room.
One of a few rolling workbenches to keep the thousands of pulleys, cogs, and belts working properly.
Thousands of tags in a supply closet. Each has lots its meaning.