Alex loved the atrium.
Usually he wandered in alone. This was not where the action was. This was where the sublime was. You could look upward in here.
Half of the domed roof, a hemisphere, was of windows, the panes separated by leaded rims. The other hemisphere, a painting of the sky on a sunny day.
“Some kind of genius painted that sky”, Alex said to himself. “This dome, of this atrium, the perfect place to paint the sky. Perhaps the only place in the universe where a sky painting– of clouds, of the blue dreaming between clouds–is as beautiful as a sky could be.
The dome suggested the universe– and the sky. The sky suggested the infinite, infinite freedom. Not only for the birds, but for the…
… The lush potted plants, and a beautiful fountain pouring down into a stream circulating along the room’s perimeter. Goldfish and guppies, puppies and kittens, the gurgle and guzzle life-giving waters, the lust for freedom, a good night’s sleep, a whore dressed as Little Bo Peep:
“I discover the Garden of Eden in a bordello,” Alex whispers to himself.
Spam of Human Affection 
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