I am in a place with layers of history – peels from a random structure with a spiral staircase leading to a catwalk strung with blank banners of draped fabric – to what end? My grandsons passed through here leaving their proud moments of jazz or rock on crowded Saturday nights -so my ears are filled with a cacophony of inaudible pasts. Do I, like some barely detected scent, hear a faint echo of Carmen – the Beatles – the Jersey Boys? Here is a sense of random space – an opera house, a storage space for bikes and baseball bats, a safe hangout for teens – of piles of games, and discarded couches. of a wall of vinyl records seen but not heard – a pattern of circles in a patternless place.