twenty twenty...

The signs were large and inviting and cinematic and they even spoke plain English. Twenty, twenty, twenty, twenty. It was a bit as if it were the earliest morning, as if there were a light morning fog downtown, below Wallstreet. An older gentleman tapped the building with his white cane... it can be surprisingly quiet in these canyonesque streets...
Marble everywhere... the old elevator shafts were now fitted with contemporary cabs, but the old buttons still sat in their cast iron flowers between the doors.
The 18th floor was tranquil. There was a wall of orange behind the lady at the front desk. Such a good sign. Orange is always a good sign... The orange sofa... a vertical lake, made out of water bottle... they were blue, of course...
What a good place... (And the people I met... friendly kindness...)