The back door into the old distillery building. Not castle-like at all, sadly.
No ambiguity here… miners, check in at this office.
Looking out across the elevator row from Portland Huron’s roof. Don’t you love the color of the sky?
A few of the stalls in the older section of the roundhouse, the noon sky peeking in.
Note the tiled floor between the bucket conveyors and an old mill.
A panorama of the dock buildings, before the left one was demolished.
One of my favorite signs. I imagine something like this happened when it was put up: “Wow, that’s a big sign.” “Yeah, you’re going to be putting it up in the elevator at the service door.” “Have you thought of may locking the door?” “What?” “You know, lock it so that there’s no risk, sign aside, of us going through and falling to our death.” “Shut up and just install the damn sign.”
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.
The great stenciled number on this chute caught my eye.