not exactly what you’d expect to encounter rising monolithic from the cornfield-lined secondary highways of indiana: albanese candy factory, purveyors of all things gummy and whizbang with a vivid, spectacular, and psychedelic front of the house, live, perpetually-glurping chocolate fountain tower, and a nifty rampway peepshow of the sugar-dusted manufacturing floor, scuttling with head-to-toe white-plastic-clad workers– but no taking pictures of the factory, they pray you!
one can only presume the shyness of oompa loompas or, more darkly, defense against slugworths of the plains states.
