I had taken an interest to this beautiful cubist building off the I-94 for a while, the place had a light on, yet nobody every came in or went out of the it.

I would take this interest to overview the site in 2019 and check out the building's exterior when we drove through this part of town. I didn't learn anything much, and forgot about the place, which seemed to blend in, until early 2020.

It was a cloudy summer day, and with time on my hands, I wanted to revisit the scene of the trespass. We came up around the back of the building this time, with the ability to peak through the endless windows, I was easy to get a scope of what was going on inside.
Man I really wished I could just smash it and get in, but we continued around the sunbaked, cracked asphalt, weeds growing between the cracks; the other end of this place had a red wood shed, surprisingly unlocked, we walked right in. The shed had several doors and a couple motors, painted white, leaves blown in.

We'd turn around to walk back, toward the glass walkway, but instead ended up taking a right, because I just noticed the gaping hole smashed into a doorway window. Closer up shows that it goes into a boiler room, illuminated by sunlight and nothing else, I couldn't see 30 feet past. A stench of damp plaster and gray water blows out the window into the warm air.
I'd have to wear my shoes in here too.
We both hopped in, the floor was wet, covered in the remnants of ceiling tiles, which had turned into a silica mush, squelching with every footstep. We didn't have a flashlight but we had a phone; it was truly insane, the whole building, endless.

If I could revisit this place before it'd been renovated, I would, so many dials, gauges, boxes for electrical things, paperwork, there was this chemistry kit too; these long hallways with plaster rooms that had more mold than wall. Water dripped from the ceiling occasionally hitting my shoulder, my hair. I remember there was this dark-room for film processing, another with these orange things, hanging like fluorescent lights, the chamber of concrete would echo.

Thunder ripples through the roof and warns us to leave, and why we didn't wait it out inside, I do not know, because we both ran six hundred feet to the car that awaited us at the front gate.

This was just the surface of a very photogenic site, within a year the property was active, boarded over, soon gutted and renovated.