875 Third Avenue, 2:30pm

I attempted this space on Sunday but left in confusion. Part of it is closed off for renovation but this upstairs portion remains open. On Sunday there were no people here, making it all seem slightly mysterious. Today several people populate this space, and seeing that from downstairs made this seem more likely.

Across the street is the Lipstick Building, better known as the place where money went to vanish. Bernie Madoff ran his ponzie scheme from that building, reaping untold financial havoc on thousands of unwitting individuals. Jobs were lost, lives ruined, and Bernie sits in jail today for the rest of his natural life.

I read a third or so of “Wizard Of Lies” before concluding that I already knew enough about the matter without needing every detail of its background elucidated. At a certain point I almost felt sorry for the guy. It seemed like he really did intend to get away with it for just a little while before realizing that it was out of his control and just waiting for the day of reckoning.

This space feels like Anyspace. The same acoustical anonymity as found in other spaces swallows the sound of peoples’ words, drowning them in aural mud. Grey floors with fake granite tiles every other set of four tiles is decorated with a 4-pounted star that equally covers a portion of the corner of each square. KUR Skinlab is in business directly behind me. Two men are behind the counter, one talking on the phone and the other punching his finger at a smartphone screen. People enter and exit the building below, passing identification cards over an electronic reader which opens the turnstile. I have not seen anyone denied entry but an alarm went off moments ago, sounding like a far-off alarm that would be very loud wherever it is actually sounding primarily.

Every time a card is held to the electronic reader and that card is accepted as valid a sound is made by the turnstile, an approving but essentially neutral sound to which I bet these office workers are deaf by now. No sound is made on exit, and no card is needed for exit. The only ritualistic element to the exiting of this building is that people stop just slightly waiting for the turnstile bar to automatically open upon sensing the presence of a human lifeform coming its way. This brief pause, which could be interpreted as more of a slowdown, functions as a speedbump does in calming vehicular traffic, but is that its intent? Do people just slow down out of distrust of the automated opening. Do they fear it will not open for them as it has in the past, and as it has done so reliably throughout the day?

I just saw one woman exiting the building with what I regarded as a condescending attitude for the turnstile bar. She looked away from it but reached down as if to help it open for her, as if this automated thing could be trained or coaxed into opening more smoothly for her as it succumbs to the seduction of her hand’s caress.

The security guards themselves exit the building without breaking stride. They know how these things work and they incorporate the well-oiled timing of that machinery into the confident stride of their day.

Visitors to the building — folks who have likely never been here — stop before the turnstile and look to the security guards for guidance, for direction, for salvation. The security guards gladly but somewhat impatiently wave their arms, gesturing to these visitors to just stomp on through the damn thing.

More people are exiting than entering now but I’m seeing a similar stop-and-wait tic afflicting those entering. Some seem to actually pause and genuinely wait for the turnstile to open, perhaps in memory of having their waist area crushed from too confidently barreling through the gate before the bar had time to swing open.

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