I am in a dark room
there's lots of people
They're admiring works of art on the walls and such
I see a woman standing by the window, and she's looking outside, into this hypeathral courtyard
she seems sad
She's probably not though
It's a castle this place I'm in.
The walls are stone and mortar
and grey
The plaque on the wall says it belonged to Sherlock Holmes?
wait, no, the actor who played Sherlock Holmes on stage.
It's really nice in here
there's this dank, musty smell you get in old buildings
not quite terrible
but not quite pleasant either
It's like that smell in your unfinished basement
that lingers after you come back upstairs
I don't mind it
and the sixteen Chinese people coming in with a tour group don't seem to mind either
incessantly taking flash pictures
even when specifically instructed not to.
I'm greatly enjoying myself sitting here, and writing
a few people are staring at the guy sitting in the corner with a note pad, staring at them
but i don't mind that either
If I close my eyes, and block out the noise, relying on only smell alone
I feel as if I were back to when this Castle was in it's prime
and I smile lightly
and walk out of the room.
and down the hallway
and to my car
and I leave
with that rich, stagnant smell still trapped in my nostrils.