Snuck in again. A door was open at the end of the piano-shaped bridge from the Westin. It was dim and all black marble reached out from the wall like smoke doubting further the flickers and oscillations of the strained fluorescents. Every sound in the harsh lobbies reflected in unforgiving strands. I couldn’t help my heart racing. My footsteps on the halted escalator clanged like tumbling ingots. Hollow and open ceilings claimed the echoes of leaking music and apparent whispers. I didn’t dare stop lest I look out of place. But out of place in relation to whom? One apparition of the living behind several layers of glass drifted into and was consumed by a fog of silk flowers as I slipped past his nook. Otherwise it was me, floors, walls, endless glass dividers and no sunlight. How quickly I had been hushed. How quickly I had been refrigerated. The lights reflected all about the paths of converging locomotives all bearing down on me. One nook advertised margaritas served every day. ‘Every day,’ or even simply ‘day,’ is a contingent state in here. The elevator hall single lit without a ping, I there with it breathing audibly.
Presented in ‘Chopping Mall’ theatrical aspect ratio.