At least she was out of the sun. The segment of circular breezeway she was standing under felt low slung and burdened by the concrete spool sitting on top of it, even though the ceiling was at least 10 feet above her. The ceiling looked like an upside down ice cube tray from a Scandinavian home furnishing shop that had been playfully, but precisely carved out of white stone. The wind moved like a wall against her. She thought of sitting, but the wire Eames-esque chairs huddled around brushed aluminum tables didn’t look up to the task. She leaned into the wind.