An odd serenity reigned over the street. One of the city’s busiest blocks was momentarily empty of cars. The black polished wall of the Hancock’s sunken plaza, dimly reflected the likenesses of people eating outside on a beautiful day. Their images were oddly out of place and time—anticipatory, like the moment one stares down at the musicians in an orchestra pit, waiting for the performance to begin.
Across the street, the old Fourth Presbyterian Church radiated stability and beauty. The construction cranes were frozen in their gyrations, and the deafening roar of the traffic, stilled.