Working in a small office in the suburbs, the pace tends to be slow – busy, but slow – which makes the occasional meetings in Center City a bit like watching a movie as others race by me and through me.

I find the building and attempt to open the doors. They are locked. Looking up, I see people being spit in and out of the turnstile door in the center.

I walk toward it and await my turn. Jumping in pace with the door like a skier onto a lift, I find myself rushed through the silent glass prison. I look to my left and barely have enough time to catch the shadow of the person next to me heading the other way in his own solitary chamber. Before I know what is happening I am out the door and forced to keep on walking. I cannot create gridlock for a parade of suits keeps in time with the door. It spits them out with the swoosh of efficiency.

Such an engineering feat – a door that is perpetually closed!

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