The office building loomed up ahead, ghostly. It was an indistinct gray. He put out his hand uncertainly —
A section of the building fell away. It rained down, a torrent of particles. Like sand. Ed gaped foolishly. A cascade of gray debris, spilling around his feet. And where he had touched the building, a jagged cavity yawned — an ugly pit marring the concrete.
Dazed, he made his way to the front steps. He mounted them. The steps gave way underfoot. His feet sank down. He was wading through shifting sand, weak, rotted stuff that broke under his weight.
He got into the lobby. The lobby was dim and obscure. The overhead lights flickered feebly in the gloom. An unearthly pall hung over everything.
He spied the cigar stand. The seller leaned silently, resting on the counter, toothpick between his teeth, his face vacant. And gray. He was gray all over.
"Hey," Ed croaked. "What's going on?"
The seller did not answer. Ed reached out toward him. His hand touched the seller's gray arm — and passed right through.
"Good God," Ed said.
The seller's arm came loose. It fell to the lobby floor, disintegrating into fragments. Bits of gray fiber. Like dust. Ed's senses reeled.
"Help!" he shouted, finding his voice.