What the camera doesn't know.

The camera doesn't know what you are looking at. It assumes things. In this case it assumed that the nearest thing it could focus on was the subject of the photo. It turned out to be the push panel on the glass door, so all the other transparent layers and receding planes of interest, from the solitary diner in the gallery to the comrades in the far distance, are blurred and rendered second-rate -- in the judgment of the camera.
I am fascinated by the ambiguity of the spaces here, in One Financial Plaza. As I look at this picture, the crisp linear edges of the glass walls zip through the other parts of the image like Barnett Newman zips.
For Newman, the "zips" were symbolic of the act of creation itself, the armature of the Hebrew glyph "Alef" which signified the emergence of something from nothing...the dividing of the darkness by the light.
For me the edges are randomizing geometries, angels' straight-edges that intrude on the illusion of the "other" -- slicing them into parts but not even touching them, like critical remarks made behind someone's back.