It's an impressive block of glass and concrete, I think to myself as I walk up the drive. Organic, even alive in some form. It's inviting--comforting, somehow.

I designed it that way, you know. You have an eye for design.

This voice shocks me out of my reverie. I'm used to hearing my own thoughts reverberating in my skull, but I'm not in the habit of picking up others'. And no one spoke aloud--that was a voice in my mind.

Can you hear me? I think, looking around for some sort of hidden speaker. I feel foolish, but only because I'm excited by the possibilities of a disembodied spirit haunting this office building.

I hear your thoughts, yes, but the expression on your face is more than enough to give them away. You're not a Vegas man, are you?

Are you human? I think to this presence, just as I realize that, if I am going to continue to talk to myself, I might as well do it on the move, instead of dumbstruck on the sidewalk. As I reach the revolving door, I get my answer.