Rims where bulbs were, light were motors were, stairs were people were.
At night the city lights blast through the broken windows, casting crazy colors through the off-white interior of the mill.
The woman in the wall has the bed; is pulling it in; is holding you down…
I like to imagine this as fountain.
Spring melt flows down the rusty rock house. In the background is the frame for the shaft.
End of the paint line. After reading Father Action’s excellent-as-always writeup about his adventures here, I was pretty cautious around big spinning alarms. (See http://www.actionsquad.org/fordII1.html)
Looking out upon Mill City through the lens of FLOUR, highlighted in pink and low clouds. This sign has recently been converted into LED lighting.
One of the cupola air intakes, rattled loose by the demolition downstairs, hangs stranded on the second floor. You can see that the floor I’m standing on in this picture used to extend all the way to the right wall. The blue paint on the wall made the climb absolutely worth it.