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.
This picture typifies the industrial ideal of the early 20th century. More metal than air. More efficiency than beauty. More profits than people.
Fire doors separate the buildings.
This building had no identity issues. My chief regret was not spending more time documenting the ghost signs around the complex.
Bayard Sugar Mill, as seen from the old power plant
The stage of the theatre still holds hymnals and other vestiges of its time as a church.
Ruster at The Pool… employee graffiti about 100 above ground.
One of the many small treasures hiding in the mill…
The view from the larry, looking out at the overgrowing coke oven top. Papers listed the order of the charges for each oven, noting the sticky doors and persistent leaks. Emergency respirators and rescue gear was stored close, as long exposure to emissions from the rusty hatches could make worker pass out on the top of the ovens.
Elevator B, used by a local farmer, stands behind an old farm truck at the edge of town.