I think of vacant places like this as liminal spaces. It’s not really a place to be, it’s a place I have to pass through to get where I want to go. I’ve stepped out of one of the rooms, either the one on the right or the left, and I want to go to the room down the hall. Maybe opening the door at the end of the hall puts me in the vestibule of this building, where the exits are, or maybe it’s an empty office, or a classroom, or a storeroom. I don’t know what it is until I walk there and look for myself.

Or maybe if I look either side of the door, there are doors for the men’s and ladies’ rooms. Only way I’ll find out is by walking down there.

There’s something unsettling about this. It’s not the dip in the floor, or…