The Coffee Shop at the End of Meaning
You appear in a regular-looking cafe. It's a little dusty in the corners, but on the whole it gives off an impression of being clean. It's got walls made of overlapping wood panelling of interchanging height, which hopefully allows for an interesting interplay of light and shadow. They're covered in old newspaper pages and magazine clippings - Soviet DIY and radio-electronics releases, Popular Mechanics and similar. The tables are bronze, so oxidized it's almost black, with an embedded glass top, while chairs are made of similar material with well-worn but comfortable cushions thrown on them for comfort. Just the seat, though, not the back of the chair - that's still just bare metal.
The sunlight is streaming in through the two large windows surrounding the entryway. It produces cinematic light shafts, increasing the contrast between the dimly lit indoor space and a bright sunny midday outside. The natural sunlight is assisted by vintage-looking incandescent bulbs hanging off the high ceiling. By the windows are two makeshift sofas - a wooden base with roughly 10 inch thick cushions on top, each as tall as the windowsill they're adjacent to, each with the steps allowing you to climb on comfortably. On each side, the sofas extend upwards, merging with integrated bookshelves. The idea is such that you get your drink, put in on the windowsill, grab a book, and then spend an hour or three on that sofa despite it not even being that comfortable.
The counter looks almost out of place. It's an island with unguarded entryways on both sides, almost looking like you're meant to walk behind it even though you're clearly not. The cash register and a few trays full of pastries are on the counter while a second counter by the wall behind it houses two vintage espresso machines and an array of grinders and unlabelled jars full of coffee beans.
There are three doorways - one leading upstairs, one downstairs, one to the back-office.
Take the stairs down and you'll end up in the dungeon - rough limestone walls with tunnels carved in them branching off into shapeless rooms the entry to which is only guarded by thick curtains.
The door leading upstairs is locked. Maybe there's something interesting up there, but you won't be learning what exactly it is today.
The most interesting thing happens when you go outside. The cafe is located along one of the central streets in Moscow, a smaller one but one that could be a tourist destination nonetheless. The building the cafe is in looks like it was built in the 40s, and by the looks of it, it's not big enough for the cafe to share it with any other establishment. The building is surrounded by marginally more modern structures - say 60s through 80s Soviet architecture, not the commie blocks, but the proper stuff - mimicking the time when this place still counted as an empire. There's also a mini-park directly in front of it with a clean and jarringly modern playground.
However, should you decide to take a walk outside, things gradually start losing the veneer of realism until eventually, everything just ends. The world transitions abruptly into a pure, featureless white void. The sky goes from blue and cloudy to white. There's nothing there no matter how far you go.
From the outside, the section of the street that you previously found cosy now looks small, insignificant, and very clearly artificial.