The lime room was in rough shape, but its colors and textures were like raw gold and oxidized copper.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
The newer tunnels were fitted with these fluorescent lights, although some skylights (block glass embedded in skywalks) let in some natural light during the day.
A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
The windows reflect the sky. The bricks hit the ground.
From an unsteady perch atop the blast furnace, the morning light began to leach into the complex below.
It was obvious which parts of the hospital were the newest, by their relative utter self destruction. It’s comforting to the Cubical Dwellers, I think, to know that as soon as the power and plumbing are disconnected that all hell will break loose and dismantle their suspended ceilings, drywall boxes and fluorescent suns in no time at all.
Kat dancing down the trestle, which is one of the highest in the state, standing about 100 feet over the road. Mamiya 6/Portra 160