I step through the doors and the world changes texture.
The lobby is the size of an indoor plaza. Polished black stone underfoot, ribbed columns rising into a ceiling that breathes a soft blue light from concealed channels. Holographic logos rotate slowly above the central reception island, each one wider than my arm span. The air is cooled to a temperature that doesn't exist outside this building. Even the silence is engineered—muffled by absorbent panels disguised as art.
Wealth, packaged so that you forget the rest of the city is gasping outside the doors.
I walk to reception.
The woman behind the counter looks me over. From the faded cuffs of my pants up to the slightly long collar of my graduation suit, then back down to the scuffed shoes. Her face does the entire calculation in two seconds and arrives at 'not for here'.
"Can I help you… sir?"
The pause before "Sir" is doing a lot of work.
I let the disrespect slide off without breaking stride.
