Slacktown

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

You always knew it would look like this.

An irrational space, a strange hotel, all atrium and concrete pillars with glassine cephalopod elevators crawling up down and yes across the walls thrust balconies darting out at all sorts of angles mostly not quite right hanging gardens dripping giant fern tendrils six or seven stories down the gravity well — y'know those things are actually predatory, gotta keep 'em trimmed back so's they don't snag some hapless conventioneer — while bright little hallucinated birds zip and swing through the arcades and conversation pits at the speed of sound and then transform into fading word balloons: sping! zippo! doink!

Here is an Information Kiosk. — Which way to... er... the lobby ?

Ha ha. Always the jokester aren't you. Hang a left then another left, go left again and you'll stumble on it right after the hexagonal galleries.