At this junction where Brewery Creek gets a breath of fresh air stands a kid holding a paintbrush: a Banksy (famous graffiti artist) ripoff.
It was obvious which parts of the hospital were the newest, by their relative utter self destruction. It’s comforting to the Cubical Dwellers, I think, to know that as soon as the power and plumbing are disconnected that all hell will break loose and dismantle their suspended ceilings, drywall boxes and fluorescent suns in no time at all.
A warped mirror in the rock crusher at the rear of the complex.
This is the far interior of the hotel, where the darkness made the shag carpet seem to move whenever the trees outside swayed. That is to say, constantly.
It’s pretty unusual to find a fireplace like this in the midst of a factory.
A wimpy crane by most standards, only suitable for moving around parts of steam turbines.
A look down the 1950s foundry building, moments after sunset.