Music up. A Beaux Arts building, all of the sculptures are pulsing and moving slightly, flowers blooming, scuplture enjoying the day, etc. we've lingering over the surface of the building, drinking in the sunlight on the limestone, searching for little pieces of detail, flowing from one piece to the next. The song dies, traffic and static cut in, we're on the international style building next door, and our gaze runs straight down it to our [my] shoes as I walk away.