A bridge crosses the main street of the village; one that goes nowhere. Ambiguity intended.
The old truck scale sits in the middle of what was Nettleton Avenue Slip.
Lost words over the auditorium entrance.
The office building was fancy compared to the utilitarian factory behind it. My favorite part was the logo crown.
Point me to the blast furnace.
Copper poured from this furnace and was cast by the autocaster on the right into billets.
The basement of the asylum was a strange place. Take, this fireplace, for instance, in an otherwise barren room. Random cinderblock (left) has created a little room behind the fireplace. To round out the strangeness, a toilet was plumbed into the middle of the space. Note the stone foundations.
A street side exposure of the original 1914 section of the orphanage. Turned into black and white to deemphasize all the graffiti across the front steps.