The sleek glass doors slid open to admit me and
I walked through the atrium past the oddly-placed Starbucks kiosk
to the elevator, which I took to the seventh floor.
The reception area into which I emerged was unusually luxurious,
not what I’d come to expect from offices in mid-Manhattan.
The series of abstract prints on the wall was merely
anodyne but the framing was museum-quality. The receptionist I approached
had an easy smile I felt was a little misplaced —
the smile of a woman who sold expensive designer jewelry.
I gave her my name — she asked me to wait.
Paraphrases from the novel 10:04 by Ben Lerner.