Place record · #591
A broad wooden door washed in faded ochre, its surface matte and dusty-looking even in the damp air of the lounge. A narrow iron handle sits low on the right. Near the bottom, the paint has darkened in irregular shapes like rain once struck it and dried there. The wood feels warm. If a hand rests on it long enough, the air close to the threshold seems drier, carrying faint traces of desert dust, damp stone, creosote, and the sharp metallic smell that sometimes comes before a storm. A thin line of reddish grit sometimes appears along the threshold and is gone the next time anyone looks.
Local door switches
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Nested places
Reader catalogue
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Canonical record
Read place #591 in the live city →
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