
This is where we begin and end ...

Against one wall, in a glass case, was a three-foot tall model, in bronze, of what looked like an ornate, Deco-style watchtower. Along the top were three coloured lights. I said if it were lying down it would look like a mummy case. There was a framed drawing of it too, a design plan, on the wall. Terri put her hands on them and concentrated.
The cabinets contained an astonishing collection of locks and keys, most of them mind-bogglingly complex... Great iron keys and ornately-scrolled locks from the Renaissance were displayed next to exquisitely-tooled pieces from the 19th and early 20th centuries that looked like code-breaking machines with numbered drums, star wheels and notched cylinders.On either side of the tunnel entrance rose Art Deco towers like stylised radio masts, surmounted by powerful searchlights...
...They reminded me of Flash Gordon-era ray-guns. A spiral staircase ran up their core.

... He pointed left to right. “The elements. Earth. Water. Fire, which is what she holds in her hand. Then Air. Then Ether.”
An octagonal window in the main metal door contained a card giving a number to call in case of alarm malfunction.We met in a conference room near the top of 570 Lex, several floors away from the sensitive eyes and ears of the newsroom, at nine o’clock sharp...
I found the edge of one of the patterns, pushing protestors gently aside as I moved, staring intently at the ground and not at their faces. I wheeled to the right and then to the left, back upon myself, towards the park and back again … I realized I was walking a labyrinth, a painted spiralling snake in green and yellow and red.
“Tables for chess and checkers only. No loitering,” a sign said. “Two hour limit per table. Free for public use. No gambling or fees.”
... the awful sound of women screaming, falling through the air, some hand in hand, like the poor people who jumped from the Twin Towers, and smashing into the pavement on Greene Street ... Young women trapped behind locked and blocked doors on the top floors as the flames tore through the factory, driving them to the windows. An inferno at their backs. Leaping to their deaths. I could feel it. I could see it. The pain was unbearable. The street resonated with violence.The bolts meant something to me too. Indefinable images rushed at me. I placed my hands on the bell, closing my eyes, hearing again the chanting in my dream. Fat Mary Fat Mary Fat Mary …