The pale room was a breeding ground for all things imaginative, though you would never think it from a mere sensory sweep, or a perceptive deduction. It was square, with an old wooden floor, which contained a maze of hidden instruments played by the skillful or unsuspecting feet of those who enjoyed the room. The walls were entirely bare, but extremely thick, and were interrupted only by a solid oak door, which harmonized with the floor when opened. The man who sat in the solitary high-backed chair was tall, and slender, with a face you would soon forget in a crowd. Besides his hands and feet being slightly too large in proportion to the rest of his body, he was indistiguishable. His hair was a dusty brown which always seemed a day away from needing a wash. Dim grey eyes belied old age, and seemed to be versed in a mood which could only be described as melancholic indifference. All in all he was the quintessential ghost. He was that 'other person' crossing the street, or standing in line.