The light floods in, its coldness a relief from the burning sun outside. The room is sterile but somehow reminds me of rooms in which I’ve sweated in the past – perhaps in dreams.
The inhabitants cannot see me. I am alone, observing but unobserved. It is not as liberating as one might expect.
Outside, I would be just another man. Anonymous on the streets of this foreign town. Here, I am not even that.
I sit, in control of my mind and my thoughts. Oddly tranquil. Somehow soothing. I contemplate many things at my own pace. How many lives lived here, and in what spirit?
There is concrete underfoot. Reassuring.
There is rustling, muttering, coughing. I grow tired.
The coldness is a comfort. But I could happily be colder.