The side of the maintenance shops, still home to several disassembled electric carts.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
It remains unexplained what ‘serious results’ may stem from not reporting an accident, but when labor was cheap and unorganized I doubt anyone asked.
Note the tiled floor between the bucket conveyors and an old mill.
Standing on a caustic tank with my head out a roof hatch, I look at the sign of the last brand to be produced here.
My favorite time to be in the brewery was sunrise. That’s the kind of light that made the brewhouse glow.
Kurth bears a ghost sign. Recently, its main sign was destroyed by graffiti artists in 2015.
Thick glass windows allow workers to check the beet juice levels in this steel tank. You can tell by the reinforcement that it had a lot of liquid and had to hold against immense pressure. Kodak Tri-X 400/Leica M7.
Standing between pockets 1 and 2. You brought hearing protection, right?