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| The elevator races upward, belying the age of the building around it, and Barry’s ears pop after a few seconds. When the doors finally part, he moves past a sign for a law firm. There’s a light on here and there, but the floor stands mostly dark. He runs along the carpet, passing silent offices, a conference room, a break room, a library. The hallway finally opens into a reception area that’s paired with the largest office. | | The elevator races upward, belying the age of the building around it, and Barry’s ears pop after a few seconds. When the doors finally part, he moves past a sign for a law firm. There’s a light on here and there, but the floor stands mostly dark. He runs along the carpet, passing silent offices, a conference room, a break room, a library. The hallway finally opens into a reception area that’s paired with the largest office. | ||
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| In the dim light, the details are all in shades of gray. A sprawling mahogany desk buried under files and paperwork. A circular table covered in notepads and mugs of cold, bitter-smelling coffee. A wet bar stocked exclusively with bottles of Macallan Rare. A glowing aquarium that hums on the far side of the room and contains a small shark and several tropical fish.|| The forty-first floor is dark, but for a single light source at the end of the hall. Barry pads toward it. He finds a corner office, cluttered with | | In the dim light, the details are all in shades of gray. A sprawling mahogany desk buried under files and paperwork. A circular table covered in notepads and mugs of cold, bitter-smelling coffee. A wet bar stocked exclusively with bottles of Macallan Rare. A glowing aquarium that hums on the far side of the room and contains a small shark and several tropical fish.|| The forty-first floor is dark, but for a single light source at the end of the hall. Barry pads toward it. He finds a corner office, cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making : papers, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. Sheer curtains billow: the French doors to the balcony are ajar. || “The details are all in shades of grey” is pretty dreary writing. Does cold coffee smell of anything, let alone bitterness? A small ''shark'' in a fish tank? Seriously? What relevance is the whisky? To point out wealth? Better to lead Barry out towards the deck. | ||
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| As Barry approaches the French doors, he silences his phone and removes his shoes. Taking the handle, he eases the door open and slips out onto the terrace.|| Barry slips | | As Barry approaches the French doors, he silences his phone and removes his shoes. Taking the handle, he eases the door open and slips out onto the terrace.|| Barry slips out onto the terrace.|| What is the obsession with shoes? Does it matter that his phone is on silent? Do we need to know about the handle? No. | ||
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| The surrounding skyscrapers of the Upper West Side look mystical in their luminous shrouds of fog. The noise of the city is loud and close—car horns ricocheting between the buildings and distant ambulances racing toward some other tragedy. The pinnacle of the Poe Building is less than fifty feet above—a crown of glass and steel and gothic masonry.|| The city shrieks: horns ricochet and sirens wail towards some distant tragedy. The Upper West Side skyscrapers of loom mystically from their luminous shrouds of fog. The Poe Building’s glass and steel pinnacle towers above them. || I get it: trying to create a gothic mood and trying to stretch our literary wings here, but you need to do better, Blake. More active verbs, more agency, more presence. For God’s sake don’t be so lazy as to contrive a gothic image by using the adjective “gothic” (especially when you’ve already told us the building is Art Deco!) | | The surrounding skyscrapers of the Upper West Side look mystical in their luminous shrouds of fog. The noise of the city is loud and close—car horns ricocheting between the buildings and distant ambulances racing toward some other tragedy. The pinnacle of the Poe Building is less than fifty feet above—a crown of glass and steel and gothic masonry.|| The city shrieks: horns ricochet and sirens wail towards some distant tragedy. The Upper West Side skyscrapers of loom mystically from their luminous shrouds of fog. The Poe Building’s glass and steel pinnacle towers above them. || I get it: trying to create a gothic mood and trying to stretch our literary wings here, but you need to do better, Blake. More active verbs, more agency, more presence. For God’s sake don’t be so lazy as to contrive a gothic image by using the adjective “gothic” (especially when you’ve already told us the building is Art Deco!) | ||