This building is nocturnal.
By day, its stillness misleads. By night it cracks and groans, its bones grind slow in the desolate stirring of decay awakening. Blind, introspective windows let fall spider carcass and fly blow. Dust shifts reluctantly. Stale air moves solemn and morbid among rooms that wear silences like shrouds. And under the failing roof, arterial corridors, long since drained of life and blood, link the dead to the dead to the dead.
But it is more alive than we, we who stand and watch, hand in hand.
But we are together. And tonight, that counts for everything.