A back hallway on the forgotten third floor of the auditorium where my daughter is having ballet rehearsal. There are three empty offices, once occupied but now holding only the detritus of use. It’s the kind of space I love more than most. It’s a lonely place, on its own terms full of cheap and fungible modern flotsam, but it’s still haunted by the life that once was. People gave it their energy, and it lingers. I could sit here reading for hours. But I have to go.