there’s really no way to describe it accurately. everytime i drive by a vacant building, i wince and yearn to turn the car around, and sign the lease. it’s all that untapped potential. it’s all that space going to waste. it’s so many buildings with lives of their own missing out on the kind of destiny meant for their kind.
i am the kind of guy who will work for a company located in a historical brick building and loft-like interior. i love the feel of history. those buildings don’t allow stuffy businessmen. suits and ties burst into flame upon entry. it’s a blue jeans kind of world, though your jeans may be black, green, orange, tan, or gray. in fact, they may not be jeans at all. but whatever they are, they announce to everyone else that you are here because you are serious about your art – your creative spark – not your GQ fashion sense.
but what is it about these walls? what is it in the cracking, slightly corrupted surfaces that lend so much value to a thirsty soul? i do not know. but rooms have souls. at least, they have souls until they are whitewashed, sterilized, and turned into ultramodern embarrassments. give me the ones with soul. with character. with imperfections. give me the old movie theaters. the old hotels. the old taverns. give me rusty, half-missing fire escapes. but let it be real. let it be real.