I expect they describe me as a criminal, perhaps a dangerous murderer. I hope they do not shoot murderers in this town. A brightly lit hall, built on three levels with a high, arched, glass ceiling. Lined up on either flank, and above me on galleries, are more of the smaller, glass-fronted halls. Trees grow from walled beds and a fountain sprays high, the water falling back down into a perfectly circular pool.
People rush by, many clutching plastic bags.
Others sit on benches, watching the water or the rushing people. This might be some kind of church, I decide. I pan slowly, recording it all. A cathedral, perhaps. It is good to be out of the cold wind and sleet, but now I notice that one or two people are studying me more closely.