Through the catacombs of the Capitol, footsteps echo softly down the cold hallway. Congressmen diligently labor in their spacious offices behind heavy doors, yet only the footsteps remain audible down the cold hallway. An elevator cheerily announces its arrival in the distance to no one in particular. Down the cold hallway, the footsteps stop. The owner of the footsteps gazes out into a peculiar promenade overlooked by spacious offices filled with diligent Congressmen. The locked gate keeps the footsteps quiet as the man gazes into this peculiar promenade, this empty place, this forbidden place. The rough stone floor lit by the stars and lampposts invites his gaze, but not his footsteps.
Up the main stair the footsteps echo, into the night air, past the police officer guarding the diligent Congressmen laboring in their spacious offices behind heavy doors. Such a busy place has never been so dead.
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