There are people walking down a hallway in a building

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The sight before me was quite fascinating yet melancholy
;
a worn neon sign still half lit buzzing late into the night over an abandoned convenience store
.
As I walked closer to inspect further I noticed a row of dusty magazines in the rack by the door - some titles still proclaiming stories of worlds long passed
.
An old issue of The New Yorker peeked out from behind faded issues of Time and Newsweek
.
I grinned to myself thinking of bygone editorial meetings
,
passionate discussions of which stories to tell and which words to use
.
The window of opportunity for those particular tales may have closed but new ones were always emerging
,
just waiting for the right words to bring them to life
.
I gently extracted the magazine
,
wiping dust from the cover - a colorful illustration adorning the front
.
As I turned the pages I noticed scribbles in the margins
,
comments made by previous readers now forgotten
.
While the articles themselves were of little value now
,
the marks in the margins served as a reminder
.
Words remain
,
outliving their authors
,
waiting for a new generation to find meaning within them
.
The fallen neon sign caught my eye once more and I paused
,
considering
.
A story remains within these walls
,
within this place
,
if only someone would tell it
.
And as a wise man once said
,
the secret of getting started is breaking your complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks
,
and then starting on the first one
.
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Checkpoint & LoRA

Checkpoint
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