Where am I?

The room was mostly dark. Light sliced through from a small crack in the cinder block that made up the wall. Crumbs of dry cement speckled the floor; I could tell as each one dug itself into my bare foot. Silence was nearly the only sound. Every so often, I caught the far-away whir of traffic passing by some other equally distant building. Lowering to my knees, I decided to explore. I felt my way around what the light could not reach. Into a corner I would cautiously stretch my hand, easing one finger at a time down into whatever the darkness hid. Nothing in that corner. Sliding along the base of the wall and floor, I reached another corner and extended a different finger this time. Somewhat damp but really nothing remarkable. Now the cement bits stabbed their way into the skin of my knee. A necessary pain, I suppose, for my exploration - surely still less then Lewis & Clark or Columbus. The next corner caught me by surprise. The room turned a bit to the right, as if it bent back on itself, back toward the slice of light. I noticed for the first time that I could smell the room. It was a paper smell, not like the pages of a fresh textbook first opened but like the annoying stains of newsprint impressed upon your fingers as you struggled to turn each page of the sports section before your father lumbered in and stole it from you. I couldn't stand the smell. I quickly rubbed my hands on my naked thigh, as if some non-existant denim might take that thought from me instead. Knees numb, I creeped ahead.