I will start at the bottom
I concentrate on traces I can see 
round sticks of gum on the concrete
I see traces of dirt like something has been rolled inside the building – I see the automatic door opening in the wrong direction
I see bumped lines in the metal, like the ones you would make with keys on the body of a car – I wonder where those are coming from, who has caused them with what and whether it went noticed or not, it probably went noticed, making an awful sound like ta a chalk stick squealing on the blackboard – just worse – my teeth aches at the thought
Further on the right I see the black lines on the lined wall, or rather strokes, reminding me of a charcoal sketch – and here again I wonder which hand has drawn it, it wasn’t an hand of course, I know it was a skateboard and did the skateboarder knew he was drawing these lines when drawing them – he probably did not think the least of it – and where the strokes made by the rolls or by the board itself? I guess the rolls but actually I have no clue – this is imagination pure.

I leave aside recognizable signs – the number 4, the letters, there are many, on the signs, on the glass guardrail – or whatever it is called – actually it now strikes me that all letters are logos on this picture, which irritates me a bit, in the English sense of annoying me, for some reason
Time is running so one last thing: I like the line running between the lines on the white wall above the door: it kind of looks like a crack or a fissure but it could also be the different layers of paint or a hazardous drawing of time waiting for a reader to be perceived, and read – deciphered with no words