Inside, upstairs, where the planes are met, the spaces are long and low and lined in tasteful felt gray like that cocky stewardess's cap and filled with the kind of music you become aware of only when the elevator stops or when the dentist stops drilling. Plucked strings, no vocals, music that's used to being ignored, a kind of carpet in the air, to cover up a silence that might remind you of death.
In a setting that evokes a unique atmosphere, the interiors are characterized by a deliberate design that is subdued yet stylish. The long, low spaces are adorned with a sophisticated gray felt, reminiscent of a confident stewardess's hat. This space is filled with instrumental music that often goes unnoticed, only drawing attention when moments of stillness occur, such as when an elevator halts or a dental drill ceases. The music serves as a backdrop, almost like an air-borne carpet, masking the silence that could lead to uncomfortable reflections on mortality.
This excerpt from "Rabbit at Rest" by John Updike illustrates the intersection of mundane and profound experiences within ordinary settings. The music's unobtrusiveness reflects a deeper existential theme, suggesting that we often avoid confronting the silence associated with life and death. Through rich imagery and metaphor, Updike invites readers to consider how familiar environments can evoke complex emotions and highlight the delicate tension between the everyday and the profound.