I occasionally find myself in this very elongated waiting area-cum-living space: perhaps you know it too? One wall is the flank of a colossal but unidentified building, with other rooms (dining areas, kitchens, washrooms) and corridors heading off from it, though there is never a sense that you have accessed the main part of the 'house'. The other is glassed-in, and the world beyond usually darkened, though sometimes a garden is visible through the cloudy or stained glass. This raises the possibility that the Corridor may simply be one side of an immense quadrangle. I couldn't comment. If you've turned one of the Corners, I would be fascinated to know what lies beyond.
All along the Corridor is furniture of all sorts, in all states of repair, crowded into alcoves, lowered or raised areas, set out in room-shapes and other configurations, sometimes heaped up alongside packing cases or luggage, sometimes neatly screened off. Sometimes there are galleries or upper 'decks', as on aircraft or trains. There are plentiful cellars, in which still more gear can be found stored. Sometimes the furniture is arranged by period or style, sometimes it displays the tastes of individuals or the haphazard reorganisations of some tentative bureaucracy.
Sometimes the 'home' wall is lined with books for miles at a stretch, and appears to be part of the underground depositories of a large library, though it is never visited by its librarians (or, if it is, they can't find a way of returning to their desks). Sometimes impromptu 'cinemas', galleries or theatres have been established.
The Corridor is plentifully populated -- as in the great waiting hall in the Voksol in Novosibirsk, it seems that all the world is here, families, tribes, nations. Sometimes you come across an unnervingly uninhabited area, either long-abandoned, or with manifest signs of recent occupation. Sometimes it feels like whoever has just thrown down their newspapers (never today's) is specifically hiding from you. No-one in the Corridor seems to sleep, or if they do it always appears snatched, huddled up in a chair with a favourite scarf over their head. Conversation is either muted or passionate.
Odd things happen to time as you traverse the Corridor (and some clearly never do, making as much of a home of it where they are as they can). It appears to be set out chronologically so that, theoretically, if you can negotiate it without delay or distraction (tollbooths are set up here and there, apparently at random, requiring all sorts of papers, fees of extortionate size or in extinct currencies), you could travel in time.
This could of course only be in so far as time is represented in the Corridor -- periods by no means succeed each other in the correct order, nor are they all present, and some of those which are, are not known to me (like the libraries, another cause of delay).
Another problem is that at times, though without disturbing its apparent linearity or internal laws of gravity, it appears to go into loops or perhaps spirals, and certainly through darknesses, in which progress and the direction of progress are a matter of will or some subtler sense. At these points, some stitching of part to part, some resecting of the Corridor, appears to be taking place.
If you leave the Corridor at any point and try to travel down one of its offshoots, there is no guarantee of exit or return, or of existence in some alternative Corridor. Blank walls are everywhere. In some cases you will appear to have turned in the opposite direction or, still without noticing, to have simply rejoined the Corridor.