The Lobby of Unopened Doors

The green enamel cup sits on the polished marble ledge, water inside refusing to lower. A crowd moves through the main atrium, the weight of their coats brushing my sleeves, and I stand near the potted ferns, invisible. The lobby itself is solid, a space built for entry, yet the revolving glass door remains sealed. I hear the rhythmic clatter of dishes from the room beyond the corridor, a sound that does not match the silence of the floor. I slip through the gap between the bookshelves and the wall paneling. The door closes, and the air changes temperature, shifting from the cool, stale breath of the lobby to something warmer, smelling of fresh paper and pine. I walk three steps, and the sound of the dishes persists, louder now, echoing from an empty space where the wall used to be.