Mushroom pillars hold up the dreams of so many, the profits of so few.
Judging from old pictures and maps, raw ore was dumped through these hatches, stamped into a rough powder, and hastily sorted before sending the best ore to the mill. Mills charged by tons of rock sent to them, so it did not pay to send them obvious tails.
The nitrating house was a chemically dangerous place, so it had thick metal and concrete shield for every station right next to an emergency shower.
The basement held a makeshift chapel.
That floor isn’t dirt–it’s old rotting grain that’s formed into a sort of moldy mud.
“R.S. ’14”. Brick Graffiti Series.
Just outside of the blast furnace is a series of platforms and catwalks to bring workers to the stoves.
And I forget just why I taste / Oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile / I found it hard, it’s hard to find / Oh well, whatever, never mind (Nirvana, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”)