“Crunch, crunch, crunch,” said the ground. “I know,” I replied.
The two antennae are retracted–the position they would be in if the base was under attack.
A 180-degree panorama of the first floor of the refectory. I just loved the colors; there’s something about plaster walls that retain the character of a building; they crumble when they die, which is much more graceful than drywall, which drips down into a stinking puddle that looks and smells like a blob of Elmer’s glue.
The back of the neon sign before it was converted to LED lighting. The image is mirrored so it can be read.
I revisited the mill years after my documentary. Now it is even more destroyed and surrounded by new fences.
This little curled yellow thing is one of the last hints that this adobe building was lived in.
The women of the hospital made clothes for the other patients.
After demolition in the mid 2000s, this interior door became exterior. I remember walking through the car shed as a teenager. It was a shortcut, if I didn’t get caught.
At this junction where Brewery Creek gets a breath of fresh air stands a kid holding a paintbrush: a Banksy (famous graffiti artist) ripoff.