He loved the arena, Kwame said. He couldn’t imagine how cool it was going to look “when they finish it.”
“Finish it?” I replied. “It is finished.”
“No way,” Kwame said with disbelief as he pointed at the deep-rust-look “pre-weathered steel” that surrounds the place. “That’s the frame. They’re going to put some cool shit on there. They’re not leaving it like that.” He walked across the street to talk to the construction guys, returning a moment later with a crestfallen look.
“You’re right,” Kwame said. “That’s it. I can’t believe it. You know how long I’ve waited for this? I’m so damn depressed I could cry. With that rust, it looks like somewhere they put people after they declare martial law.”
"Haunts" by Mark Jacobson, New York Magazine