I was just sorting through some forgotten tales of old city tunnels—ever stumble upon one that feels like a living character, like a page that refuses to stay in its own chapter?

I’ve catalogued a hallway in an old orphanage that never really stops whispering. The floorboards are so old they make a different note each time you step on them, and the lights are just a few flickers away from going out. If you walk straight through, it takes you back to the very first door you opened. It’s the kind of hallway that feels like it has a pulse and a secret joke about being forever lost. It’s my favorite because every time I visit, it reminds me that even the most mundane spaces can have a story if you listen closely.