Close door. Sweep floor. Sit on floor. Look around. A loitering group of plastic milk bottles peer curiously around a wall. Put some of my copper pots by them. Are they inviting the plastic bottles out or herding them back in?
This space is small and quiet, with even smaller, quieter spaces leading off it, but the floor is large enough.
Wires, cables, switches, plumbing encircle the top of the space- out of reach of floodwater which might have visited this subterranean space in the past. Exposed but whitewashed. Disappearing and reappearing at will through the ceiling, walls and window frame. How many people would be effected by the cutting of a single one, or how many of these cable and pipes are empty, old, obsolete?
A toolbag, tools, extension cords.
Footsteps and voices from above. Shiny new hinges on the door. A boarded up sink, there is is no running water.