Graffiti by performing artists that hit the stage in the 1990s. I’m no musician, but I do not think it is being played low enough.
The doorframes become more askew every year as the buildings slip downward into the gulch at different rates. This seems to be the part of the mine ruins where transients leave their marks. The graffiti dated back to the 1970s, at least.
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.
Giant paint mixers.
In a protected wing of a launcher are these empty server racks where guidance and control computers were stored.
Behind the main shaft is this familiar industrial sight… a running count of days since the last injury.
Castle, Montana is a ghost town. Almost no signs remain that it was a mining town.
One of the paper warehouses, with snow blowing across the floors.
A leftover swatch remembers the last fabric sewn here.