After giving up trying to get help or finding solace in the outside world, you spend many days alone in the shopping mall.

The trauma turns to boredom.

You make observations.

You begin to notice small details in the design of this place, or at least of what remains. Things that you never really paid attention to suddenly seem fascinating: the handrails, the doorknobs, or the girders running beneath the skylights. There are precise touches of neoclassical order, and of symmetry and elegance. It seems too crafted and serious to be the usual postmodernist center of mass commerce. You wonder who the architect was as you walk along the terrazzo floors covered in broken glass and debris.

Who built the temple and who ransacked it?