Shadows of distant power lines are carried to the concrete by street lights.
A me-sized hole in the half-demolished skyway looks about a story down to the ground. Step lightly. Arista 100.
A crashed freight elevator.
The last batch of molded metal stuck in the chute, this metallurgical furnace was falling apart brick by disintegrating brick b the time I got to it. On the upper floors there is a sophisticated network of vents and chimneys to make these little furnaces as hot as possible.
The holes were for men to poke reluctant ore with long poles, with the hope that a lucky jab would let the load slide down into the boat below. Now they’re just traps.
I love when moss grows indoors… one of the little pleasures of exploring abandonments.
A rooftop scene.
Blending the explosive ingredients was dangerous. It is no wonder that the blending house had so many emergency slides.
Shadows of the timberwork and cribbing are cast across cracked lake ice. My footprints follow cat tracks.