JUST PASSING THROUGH
There is something about a space like that. The great majority are just passing through. Some pass through nearly everyday, commuting to and from work or school. Others may pass through only once. Their voices echo through the grand halls of this space. The memory of them is seen in the worn floor tiles and seats. Yet, the space itself remains much as it has been for years. It is the strange intersection of past and present. It is beautiful, yet worn.
The world is like that.