There is a place I go that I have always gone, and I think you know it too. It's not a particularly nice place, in and of itself. I think at its best it can be fairly qualified as "Alright". The couches are pretty comfortable, but they smell a little funky, and there chairs aren't much to talk about, but not really a whole lot to complain about either.
The TV doesn't work so great, the power button is broken and the plug never seems to want to stay in the outlet. But it works, and hey. What else do you need?
So, on the whole, it's a pretty unremarkable place. It's most notable feature is the unmistakably welcome feeling it seems to exude, which must be the only explanation for the fact that no matter what goes on there is almost always someone there. Doing stuff. Existing in this zone of really comfortable "meh".
It used to be that I knew everyone who would ever be sitting on the smelly sofas and chairs, and no matter what mood I was in I would find a modicum of comfort by simply existing with a kindred soul in an unremarkable lobby. There would be days I was seriously not fit to interact with inanimate objects, and I would be fully aware of it, but damned if I wouldn't zombie-walk my way downstairs and expose these people to my presence anyway. They didn't seem to mind too much.
No one minded anything too much. It was all very genial. It was, at it's ultimate, comfortable. At times, a really loud and smelly kind of comfortable, but comfortable none-the-less. And over the years, despite the happenings and the new people and the... well, you know, it's retained that sense of comfort. So that even though there are days when there is no one in this building I actually want to see, no one I really feel all that close to anymore... I still want to be there. For the ambiance. For the dick jokes.
For something I can't quite place. The fact remains that if I close my eyes and shut out the words that are being said, just float in an amoebic state of half-existence, I remember who I am. Who I was when I came first sat down here, who I became by sitting down here a lot more, and who I lost by simply passing through.

So, here I sit, in the affectionately termed "bitch-corner" (because the lobby is being steam-vacuumed), realizing that none of the people I met here will ever come back. That the me that people met here left a long time ago, and wont come back. And realizing that I'm sort of okay with that. There are new people, who look like the people I met, that I get along with pretty well. Sure I'm not awfully close to them, and it doesn't really look like we're gonna be ridiculously close friends, but it's nice, really nice, to have some people to spend time with in between classes. And I think I've finally stopped expecting anything more.

The lobby is just an unremarkable place, with new outlets and the same shitty TV and a couple new chairs. It feels kinda homey, and there are people who hang out there. That's really the way it's always been, and that's always what it's gonna be. Maybe I like the people there. Maybe I don't. It doesn't matter. I only hang out there in between classes anyway.
Maybe there used to be a group of kids who hung out there and had a special kind of love for each other. They were some great kids. And y'know, there are some kids there now who have a special connection, but it's not really all that strong. I think they put too much weight on it at some point, or something. Anyway. It's just a place. These people, are just some people. And when you think about it, that's all the Lobby ever meant.


So sure, stop by, if you feel like it. If you wanna play some video games, at least one person will always be up for it. And if you and just that one person play, other people will too. Or, if you just wanna talk about something, everyone is willing to listen. Everyone is pretty open minded, and fairly respectful. I say fairly, because you can ignore people who are being assholes. But if you can, leave the expectations somewhere else. It's just a place.