The little vestibule is dark, chocolate colored, the wood paneling hinting of a grander time. "PIZZA!" "WINGS'!" "DIM SUM!" shout from the papers scattered on the check-tiled floor. It smells of my grandparents' home in Brooklyn - a mix of polish and roasting chicken. When the door closes behind me I am caught in a small capsule full of dull echo. Three white marble steps are discolored with age, and the dark mail-slots in the six small brass doors line up like some ominous I-Ching hexagram. The names taped on the little doors could qualify as a six-word short-story... Nurses Announcements Archive Article