The streets seemed vaguely familiar, but the building brought no memories. He’d hoped something would miraculously click in his head, but nothing did. He sighed as he paid the driver, making sure to leave him a decent tip. Aaron closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he stepped into the building lobby. Exhaling, he blinked and tried to adjust to the dim light before gazing around. The lobby appeared to have been built in the 1920s. The lovely marble floor looked freshly polished. An old, cast-iron elevator, with an antique tin “out of order” sign chained in front, stood near the winding dark-stained oak staircase. The vintage brass mailboxes on the far end were modernized with keypad codes. Walking over to the boxes, he read A. Buss on the third box. He tapped an odd rhythm on his lower lip, trying to think of a possible code. Maybe his birthday – 1031. He blinked when the box door opened. He was slightly disappointed, but for some reason not surprised to see it empty. Closing it, he turned and headed up the stairs.
