In one area of the main building, the floors in several rooms have collapsed entirely, providing a direct view to the floor below. Decades' worth of paint on the walls has become so thick that it comes off in rubbery sheets, as if the walls are melting. In other rooms the paint has simply flaked off, leaving a thick dusting of institutional green snow on the floor. There's a certain odd beauty to the decay. Perhaps it's the signs of nature that have invaded the hospital's still air and lifeless rooms.
Some rooms are so damp that their floors are covered by a carpet of moss.
One sun room has been invaded by vines, which have pushed their way in through the broken windows and woven themselves around the glass-less mullions and along the walls. These little surprises can serve as useful markers as you make your way through the hospital. It's easy to get lost. All the hallways, all the rooms begin to look the same, with their uniform dimensions and their stripped-bare interiors. There are other signs that show the hospital staff tried to make life more pleasant for their patients.