one always knows a great church by this marked propulsive force that goads one to just walk on forward, on to the nave, to the transept, towards the altar. one can see, or rather feel it, in say, the french gothic cathedrals or in le grande gallerie in the secular cathedral of louvre or even in the grand staircase of the met.
the building super smells of day as i walk behind him in this windowless hallway. he asks me if i had ever lived in this neighborhood before and when i say no, he asks me why now? i do not answer him, instead, i ask him how often the elevator in the building breaks, as it does now. he says “you know, stuff happens.” he leads me to a staircase at the end of the hallway, cradling in his hand the bunch of keys like a baby hedgehog.