the ultimate liminal space. Your money’s no good here. windows frosted and yellowed with time, wood paneling and fluorescent lights. rows upon rows of ochre and dark blue seats, hundreds of them, almost all empty on winter mornings. The scarce few people around make you wonder if they’re ghosts or if you’re the ghost, stuck between centuries. When my soul leaves my body it will seek refuge here. Spirited Away USA. I’ll be on the ferry forever.
