In a now-demolished building, a skylight begins to separate.
At sunrise the fog rose near the solvent recovery line. You can barely read the “XXX” warning.
The roof was in bad shape, but too beautiful to avoid. This is the spot were I used to study medieval Latin.
HDR matrix panorama. Looking from the grain elevators, now doomed, toward the city between the flour mill’s water tower and tile elevator’s neon sign, the old and new economies seem almost united. Yet the financial centers rise in reality to shadow the now-abandoned industry and manufacturing. The way of things, I’m told.
The end of one of the scrapped turbines. Judging by the aborted attempt at cutting it in half, the scrappers had some trouble with this one.
Like a railgun pointed at the Rockies… the boom would direct tailings–junk rock–outside of the dredge pond.
This is how the warehouse looks today.
Aaron by the concentrator.
This old ward, not a victim of remodeling, still has metal screens over the open windows of the doors. It should be obvious why glass were not used.