“We don’t know how we got so lucky. I was sure the observation deck wouldn’t even be open this late- it’s a weekday after all – but you insisted that we should at least check. ‘It’s just a block away,’ you said, ‘We might as well.’ I couldn’t argue. It’s not like we come to this part of the city often.
We held hands and hurried across the street from the restaurant, not bothering to find a crosswalk. There was nobody else in the plaza; the empty tables and benches painted a dreamlike scene, as if everyone had vanished in some cataclysmic event. We, the last humans on earth, strolled between circles of illumination cast by street lamps.
The lights inside the tower were off, but the automatic doors slid open when we approached. ‘Did they forget to lock them?’ I wondered out loud. We felt like kids out past our bedtime, alone in the wide, dark lobby. Our footsteps echoed on the bare marble as we searched for an elevator. You jerked my hand with surprise when we heard a noise down the hall. We held our breath, fighting the irrational urge to hide. A woman with gray-streaked hair rounded the corner pushing a cart loaded with custodial supplies. She looked as surprised to see us as we were to see her.