Man in the Elevator

Morgan stood before the doors of the elevator, pensive. His eyes were sunken, his body sagging under the weight of his nearly-empty backpack. He took a deep breath and yawned just as the door dinged. It slid open.

He stepped into an empty elevator. The floor, a cheap, industrial carpet, was attempting to pose as fancy with its shade of deep blue. The walls were brushed chrome, such that you could make out the ghosts of yourself in the reflection. Above, florescent lighting was disguised by plastic panels. The whole room was cramped and cheap, and the way it would shake when moving up and down led one to doubt the expired license in the upper corner had ever been valid.

Morgan started, realizing he had been just standing there, the doors closed, unmoving. He pressed a button, and the elevator began its ascent. It was slow, and shuddered through every floor.

The box stopped on the fifth floor, and a tall woman with high heels, out of breath from walking up the stairs, stepped in. On the sixth floor, a squat little man with a bright red nose entered. He stared at the woman, who glanced back at him in disgust before pressing a button to get off at the next floor.

Morgan yawned again as she exited, and the man next to him said, “I’d totally hit it, what do you think?” while the door closed.

Morgan looked at him and didn’t respond. He got off on the ninth floor, yawning again, leaving the small man behind.


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