I don't know the story of this building - when it opened, when it closed, or why. But while I was visiting that city someone mentioned this hospital to me. Apparently it had appeared in the local news some days before because people had squatted it and were living there, among the old treatment rooms and the broken tiles.
The space resounded with echos of human life. This hospital had been a backdrop for countless private dramas, stories of sickness and cure, life and death, slowly replaced by the lessons of abandonment and decay.
After giving me a stern lecture and spending some time threatening to call the police, he sent me back into the hospital to make my way out the way I had come. This surprised me as we were standing next to the front door, but my suggestion that I leave the quick way was met with uncomprehending anger and a finger pointed back into this vast and unsettling building.
The barricade had been moved back.
Each of them had.
Every doorway I encountered on my way out, was in the same condition I had found it when I first came through it.
Someone had been tidying up behind me, moving all the barricades back into their proper positions.