A little sun and a little moisture sprouted this grass in the middle of the steel silos, in the midst of Minneapolis’ “graffiti graveyard”. Two images of time: nature growing through industry and rust dissolving old art in the elements.
The sun unzipped the clouds. Mist blew across the harbor.
The sidewalks are littered with rocks.
Behind the small stage is a hallway signed by practically every act that walked through its doors. There’s also a pair of palms. Since all the heat in the building collects in this area, it did seem more tropical.
A door covered in pen graffiti.
This “pit” would allow workers to crawl below locomotives to service them.
A matrix panorama of the brewhouse staircase, post-scrapping. So pretty…
This dirt-brick building hasn’t fared well.
Death. About two seconds after the explosives were triggered.