He held a clip board. Like they did.
Made scratching notes with a little frown.
Sealing the fates of others in a scurry of ink over charts and plans.
We watched him. Not hard to spot in his fluorescent vest. Currently in the incinerator that hadn’t felt heat for decades. We wondered if he was foe as his boots crunched over fallen plaster in the corridor. Assessing. Deciding our future. We listened to them talking. Hearing the plans. Knowing we may have to intervene and halt them.
The building gave us strength. Without it we would all be lost again.