Every tower needs its myth. Some say Blackrock’s the puppeteer — with CEOs speaking about access to water and such; but really, it’s just like a point in a huge list of points that learned Excel macros like Enron.

Meanwhile, Simon says what? Living in the revolving door, twelve years of spinning the same story outside the lodge — now polished, reworded, and freshly scented with monetization, remuneration and remittance. Click, click, click, hiss, hiss, oink? Sure. But beneath the ad banners, a few bricks hum with something real (as usual). Clean gentle lies wrap 1% of truth, or something like this, practically.

The trick is hearing the structure without buying the souvenir mug if one is an alchemist but the button and t-shirt are still for sale and I’m shopping with what currency?

One needn’t condemn nor consume — just sense the echo chamber for what it is as it vibrates thru true corridors and through the marble, granite, black stone sculptures, and an even bigger hall.

Because sometimes the most honest thing in a skyscraper… is the sound of footsteps leaving.