On top of the light hoop, 160-feet up, a ship comes into port, ready to load-up. If you look really close, you can see my shadow cast on the dock below, courtesy of the full moon.
The crumbling building barely contained the colors inside of it.
Storms and waves, focused by the Port of Wisconsin entry have focused the faces to tear-up these boards below.
The west portal of the tunnel is open, and if it wasn’t for the rough track, I would think by looking at it that a train could be coasting up behind me any moment. Mamiya 6/Portra 160
At the end of a conveyor belt and poised over a loading station, it’s easy to image the tinny sound of chicken feed sliding across the metal. Like sand on the old-fashioned stainless steel playground slides.
The buildings were level with one another, so one could look through as many as a dozen factory floors from one window.
A primitive intercom system connected the various wards to their respective nurse’s stations. They looked hand-made and likely originated, in part, in the FFSH carpentry shop. They were often placed high, like this one, to be out of patient reach.
This big rusty sphere hides behind the incomplete 5-stack.
Away from the rest of the plant–as if forgotten, or hiding–is this little stamp press. Yes, this is little by press standards.