The first thing I notice is the floor. Clean, polished, oak-colored hardwood. Like a living room.
Why? A trick to make it feel - what? - more comfortable? More...homey?
Not so much.
Neon lights bathe the long corridor in a weak antiseptic glow. And it smells like hospital: acrid sickness masked with disinfectant.
On my left is a sitting room.
A group of patients sit quietly around a TV. Silently staring. The disembodied voices from the television - some mind-numbing reality show about a tattoo parlor - were the only sound.
It was the most off-putting and oddly anti-social feeling I've ever had walking into a room filled with people.
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