Taconite Harbor’s main road, now overgrown and leading to nothing. Just asphalt between caved-in curbs.
An insurance office.
The pigeons and raccoons have no use for these, so they will sit empty until snow or fire removes them by force.
About a third of the roundhouse was demolished in the 1950s, but there’s a lot left.
This crane could reach any part of the power station floor.
At sunrise the fog rose near the solvent recovery line. You can barely read the “XXX” warning.
Park Insurance Agency is no longer in business, nor would you be able to dial that phone number.
In the ward for the criminally insane, this door was the most-worn. Nail scratches mark the area around the peep hole, the wood is gouged everywhere from thrown chairs and hard kicks, and a ominous blood-colored stain is visible where it dripped in the second inset from the bottom. Aside from the damage, the coloring in this section was very vibrant, though it was probably little reprieve for those who had to work here.