The zebras had the right idea when they saw the pink beds–run.
A few from atop the steam gauges along the western wall. The turbines were scrapped quickly after the plant closed, it seemed.
In a strange loft next to the brewhouse are these twin kettles, which seem much older than the main kettles in the brewhouse.
Before developers saw to cut and cut the flour mills inside Pillsbury, they stood at the ready beside various purposeful chutes the traversed the floors of between sorters. These machines were belt-driven by the power of Pillsbury’s Mississippi headraces and turbines, the force of which notoriously shook the building’s foundations themselves. The wheels would change the grade of the flour, or the size of the dust produced from crushing the kernels.
Broken dishes and rotten burlap, mixed with the general trash left behind after the roof collapsed on the poor house.
A filter to separate the sliced beets from boiling water.
This picture is lit by a direct lightning strike of the building. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of being in this giant open building the moment it channeled an electric explosion into the earth.