I Am Not An Institute

I am not an institute. I have not been founded to advance the cause of some specific knowledge, or to curate some great esoteric good. I am not housed in a blocky clifftop modernist edifice, constructed out of challenging angles, looming before an empty parking lot at the end of a long and disused, winding switchback driveway. I do not have a matte charcoal gray metal security box with a steady red bead of light, standing vigil to the right side of my locked glass and steel front doors. There is no untenanted reception desk in my lobby, darkly visible through the smoky green tinted, semi-reflective windows. I am not an institute.

But I wish I was. Lord, how I wish I was.