The old gate sign, leaned against one of the terminal elevators.
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.
The giant radiators in this casting shop look like a flag to me.
The first step of the filtering process is being spun through this tube.
Funny how sensitive modern English speakers have become to gendered language. I doubt the workers here–almost all female–were offended by this posting for ‘Workmen’s Compensation’.
The end of the dock disappears in the fog.
The the left, the nitrating line in War City. To the right, War City’s sole suburb, Charlestown, IN.
In the middle of Electric Steel, dust collector vents cross-cross out of sight.
Christmas lights from the time Island Station was an art studio lean against a rusty boiler.