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Half of the first floor was a concrete graveyard. Huge slabs were obviously firm foundation beds for some
heavy equipment, all of which had been stripped out.
It was dark and dangerous; loose pieces of metal hung at head height, the wind whipped through the building,
and the loose corrugated sheeting rattled and banged in the wind. The storm outside was brewing.
"The concrete graveyard on the first floor is where the shakey tables used to be
mounted - they're like an industrial version of panning for gold. The table tops are still
all over the place but the scrap men took them off to get the motors out." - Griffin
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The local kids obviously loved it here. A former fuse box was converted into a crude lamp holder; burnt tea
light candles sat in torn drink cans, further cans and drinks littered the floor. It was a dramatic place to hang
out.
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At least there were steps. And even though the owners had removed the slats, we simply climbed up, bow-legged,
clutching the railings. The drop didn’t bear thinking about; the floor at this level was gone, and the
higher you climbed, the higher the drop.
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