Above the old machine shop is a packing building and a crate of cardboard label rolls.
An 80s-era company crate, as found in a forgotten store room.
Expanding foam provides some textural contrast to the wood floors, worn smooth over a century. This building dates to the 1890s and was built as the coffin plant.
#67, one of the only lockers that is not crunched to the point it refuses to open. In the corner of the small office area.
A patient room is more intact than others.
On my first self-guided tour, the calculator was caught my eye because it was one of the few things left behind in the laboratories that filled the second floor. On my next trip, it had been smashed to pieces.
A squat in the basement of the Temple Opera Block. When the residents were evicted by Duluth Police in 2013, they said their favorite part of living there was that the steam pipes kept it warm all winter long for free.
One thing I like about the oppressive globalist-wrought future is the idea of numerically subdividing spaces; my geek side sort of wants to live in a flat that can be sorted by as Dewey Decimal-like code.