A fireproof room in the basement, perhaps for ammunition storage at one time.
The main floor of the hospital was crammed with furniture.
An insurance office.
The most pointless, beautiful and nuclear-bomb-proof catwalk I’ve been on to date. It goes between two high levels in its own bottom-lit concrete capsule in the center of the tallest, thickest building. Hang on, we’re riding this one out.
…out of our depth.
Paperwork in the control room, dated 1958.
An abandoned news stand between the concourse and ticket booths. This is one of my favorite pictures from the 2000s.
The view from the larry, looking out at the overgrowing coke oven top. Papers listed the order of the charges for each oven, noting the sticky doors and persistent leaks. Emergency respirators and rescue gear was stored close, as long exposure to emissions from the rusty hatches could make worker pass out on the top of the ovens.
A place to turn mine carts into different areas of the shops.