It's tall, and stark, and made of concrete. A huge, blockish brutalist skyscraper, not the tallest skyscraper in manhattan by any means, but a little taller than most of the ones around it. It sits there, stark and imposing, with almost no windows visible against its tall facade. The only glass is at the entrance from the sidewalk, a set of concrete stairs leading up to a covered concrete overhang, surrounding a set of a half-dozen glass double-doors set back a foot or so into the facade.
Passers-by walk pass by the building, or stand and talk to each other in its imposing shadow, but none of them take any particular notice of it. The conversationalists don't move to take shelter from the rain under the overhang, no playful children run excitedly up the steps for the sheer joy of doing so, no curious tourists lean upwards to take pictures of it with their cell phones, or press their faces against the glass to see what secrets might lay within. The only one here really looking at the building, is Jesse.
