You walk in the direction indicated by the bright Peter Pan sign. The sign points to a pair of heavy, unmarked doors.
You notice that, oddly enough, thirty feet away from these doors is an outfit that claims to be the Peter Pan ticket office. You ignore this. You know from experience that there is only one way to navigate Port Authority, namely, to follow the signs.
On the other side of the heavy, unmarked doors, you come into a bare concrete room. This must be the Peter Pan ticket office, because that is what the sign said. It is filth-stained and silent. The ceiling and walls and floors are all unadorned stone, and the only light is from fluorescent tubes overhead. It is a very long room. There is no one here, and there has never been anyone here. You turn to leave, but the unmarked doors have locked behind you. And then the overhead lights go out. In the distance, from the other end of the room, you hear the beating of demon wings. Peter Pan and his fairies are descending for their blood-meal.
THE END.