Exit

There it is. Right there.

You can just follow the alluring light through cold stone floors and hard marble walls and stairs that smell like urine. Who wants to be a part of this stinky, repulsive (and fairly old, too) place anyway?

Just look at the cracks on the walls. The marble walls, once white and fresh, now just worn old by the winds, tears, blood, piss, spit, crap and god knows what else. They now have the looks of an old man's eyes, telling you that the brain behind the wrinkles - although couldn't say and remember much - have seen a lot.

These walls, they have the most improbable beauty of the tears of a child stuck in war. These poor old walls, which reflected many lights and faces and dreams, now weep secretively into the night's muteness. The cracks scream out the painful truths, the enigmatic secrets, the burning questions, the soulful lullabies.

There's a sheer creepiness that attend to their ugliness.

Now go ahead and take the next exit. Leave these walls and floors behind. They're pretty much used to it.
















Thatcher Cook, New York City, NY.