by Mark Patterson
I have this recurrent dream- a waking nightmare, really-that I’m walking through long, foreboding corridors. Symmetrical and clearly man-made, their seeming indifference to my presence is strangely belied by the dim lights left on for me, as if somehow, I’ve been expected. Tiled floors, skylights, and chic, functional, chandeliers provide panoramic insight to the tastes and evolutionary progress of whatever ancient culture constructed this maze of expansive runways that lead only to other runways.
