In the corner of most of the factory floors, freight elevators flanked restrooms to leave more central space for machines and their masters.
In the middle of one of the outlying cottages, perhaps the Masonic Cottage–it was too damaged to tell, really–are these pair of skinny doors that led from patient rooms to a common area with rotting shag carpet.
Above the old machine shop is a packing building and a crate of cardboard label rolls.
The power lines follow the street, down to the mineshaft. Everything revolved around the mine, it seemed.
The holes were for men to poke reluctant ore with long poles, with the hope that a lucky jab would let the load slide down into the boat below. Now they’re just traps.
The original metal sign over the porticos.
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.
Rivets are sexy, and this old machine has more than a fair share.
I believe these hooks were meant for hanging filters to dry.