The side of King that faces the lake is stained yellow-green.
Lights over the emergency slides. A veritable overgrown city in the background.
Gold, which has a relatively high mass, would drop through the slats of the sluice boxes as the water flowed over them. Around the dredge were a half dozen radiator pipes to keep the water flowing through the machines.
Even with a hundred people parked in front of the lakeside relic, it was invisible.
A me-sized hole in the half-demolished skyway looks about a story down to the ground. Step lightly. Arista 100.
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.
This battlement-like tower is the first thing one sees coming to Old Taylor from Frankfort.
This volume gauge could be read from 30 feet away, which is useful when the control panels and valves are that far away.
This sawtooth roof collapsed months later under the weight of an early snow.