Digital Ink'd

A desolate sand swept Fallout Santa Monica Pier. Discover the captivating locales of Amazon Prime’s Fallout TV series as Lucy, Maximus, Moldaver, and the dreaded Ghoul vie for the Vault-Tec cold fusion relic. Filmed across various iconic spots in New York and New Jersey, the series brings the post-apocalyptic Los Angeles, California wasteland to life. Here’s a closer look at the real-life locations featured in the show. Let me know in the comments below how much you loved the show. Were you surprised by the New York-centric locations? Episode 1 (“The End”) In a gripping and unforgettable episode, we witness Lucy emerging from the subterranean depths of Vault 33 centuries ahead of schedule, driven by an urgent quest to rescue her father, Hank, the Overseer of Vault 33. This dramatic turn of events follows the brutal infiltration of Vault 32 by Moldaver’s raiders, who cunningly disguised themselves as the already deceased rioting inhabitants of the vault. The story's turmoil begins

  In my extensive ventures across various businesses, churches, factories, and plants, I've encountered a plethora of remnants from bygone industrial eras. Yet, none have left as profound an impression as the sight of the leftover machinery at the former Potter Hill Mill. Nestled amidst its surroundings, these aging relics stand as silent witnesses to a vibrant industrial past, their once-potent functionality now subdued by the relentless march of time. The manufacturing equipment, once the lifeblood of cotton goods production, remains steadfast, firmly bolted to the floor, slowly succumbing to the relentless embrace of rust and decay. It's a scene frozen in time—a rare glimpse into the mechanical marvels of the 1800s, preserved in their original state, untouched and unscathed by modern interventions. As I gaze upon the weather-worn structures and rusted machinery, I'm struck by the poignant juxtaposition of past and present. The former textile mill, once a bustling hub of

A year and a half ago, this very location was on my itinerary, a pin on the map during my exploration of Connecticut's forgotten corners.  My journeys often resemble a carefully curated list, each destination a line item waiting to be crossed off. Like a bowler aiming for a strike, I systematically documented each location, capturing the essence of these abandoned spaces before moving on to the next. My friend J, a fellow explorer with an eye for the overlooked, had urged me to visit this particular factory. Its potential for "infiltration and quick documentation" was promising, he assured me. Yet, somehow, amidst the whirlwind of exploration, it slipped through the cracks. Distracted by a companion more accustomed to scaling Manhattan skyscrapers than navigating the ruins of industry, I prioritized shared experiences over my own list.  We traversed different towns and cities, seeking out hidden gems of abandonment, but the metal manufacturer remained unchecked, a silent