st. crispin | red fences and red tape

Smorgy didn’t behave herself, rushing towards the buildings, camcorder in hand, lured by the open doors and welcoming passageways. I noted the red brick, with its white and blue detailing with a critical eye; this was a friendly asylum, which would’ve looked almost pretty on a bright spring’s day.

The architecture here was small, single storey, unthreatening. It would look good on film.

I called Smorgy back. We were going to do this properly. And anyway, I wanted to have a chat with the nonplussed security guard, watching us from the Administration Block.