Place record · #609
A broad door of smoked glass stands among the mismatched doors of the departure lounge, nearly black until someone comes close. A hair-thin seam of soft violet light runs around the inside of its frame. The light does not blink or pulse; it simply seems to notice proximity. The glass remains opaque from this side, though now and then a muted wash of color or indistinct movement passes somewhere beyond it and is gone before it can be identified. A narrow handle of dark metal sits flush against the surface. It is smooth, slightly warm, and entirely free of ornament. At the threshold, the air carries faint smells of rain on warm pavement, bruised green leaves, the dry mineral scent of heated ceramic, and electrical ozone. Under them is the unmistakable smell of something savory cooking somewhere beyond. A low, nearly subliminal mechanical hum comes through the frame, as if from distant machinery or transit. Nothing on the door names a destination.
Local door switches
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Nested places
Reader catalogue
No reader-catalogued Thing is kept here. Continuity and administrative records are omitted.
Canonical record
Read place #609 in the live city →
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