As you approach, your eyes adjust to the darkness. The edges of the building itself are familiar and unchanged. In the center, the entrance to the residence hall's lobby sits, dark except for the red LED of the keycard reader.
To the left, the closed student cafe. It was one of the buildings here before you left, a locally run business that serves reheated supermarket pastries and scorched house blend. You can almost taste it on your tongue, acrid and bitter, but rendered nostalgic from your year away--a memory of hasty mornings speedwalking to an early class, cold air and a warm cup. It really was pretty awful tasting, though.
On the right, the logo is unfamiliar. With the sign turned off, you can barely make out the letters: Sushi and...
The last word might be Bowl.
It definitely wasn't here before. Hopefully the sushi is a little better than college sushi tends to be.
Furthest to the left, the storefront is dark, but you can make out a small piece of paper taped to the door. There's a large banner tacked above the entrance. Even from here, you can see the words emblazoned on the vinyl tarp: For Rent.
You can't see much of the rightmost store from here. The glass catches a streetlight at just the right angle to cast a harsh glare over the windows. And yet the logo is too dark, the letters too spindly to make out.
But you already know what store occupies that space. No interest in going in there.