Two friends swap musings while exploring the terrain of Utah.
The narrow brick stairwells that wind the guts of the old art museum will, without a doubt, remain entirely intact in the event of a nuclear holocaust. Their dusty beige color encroaches no more than an extra inch on either side, and the individual bricks themselves seem centimeters wider and taller than the standard, although perhaps it is the lines of cement between them that are more than usually thick. The lighting fixtures are a quiet white barely tinged with yellow warmth, with a focus on the landings that spills magnanimously down across the flights. The unobtrusive bulbs, once considered, exude the dimness of an emergency electrical system, albeit a powerful one, and they never flicker. All together, these dimensions leave the traveler with an impression that the concrete walls extend for miles on either side, above and below — an ambience one finds oddly comforting when one has sought the stairwell voluntarily. Continue reading