Play on, Hunter. (Two keys worked on this thing.)
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...based on the tags: people, pianos, quarantine, sepia...
C’mon, guys. PIck up to trash.
He had the knees of a stallion. RIP.
Looking from the mill at the old transfer elevator’s steel tanks.
In the middle of the foundry, an office is untouched by scrappers, legal and not. Inside, warnings and catalogs for machines that are gone, obsolete, and melted down.
Raab strolling where the coal and ore would be dumped by trains that traveled along the top of the concrete pilings.
Lights over the emergency slides. A veritable overgrown city in the background.
The approach to Dock 4 is long demolished, so it is only accessible when the lake freezes.
Hunter’s custom large format rig looks pretty cool, doesn’t it?
The women’s ward had a player piano in it, likely a donation.