The Penthouse...

I was waiting for an elevator at the ground level. I nodded cordially to the woman holding a FedEx box next to me. A man approached quickly, throwing with equal speed, "Did I get anything," to the concierge. He replied no. The quick man stood there. I made eye contact and nodded hello. He looked at me with heavy eyes, as if trying to figure me out. He nodded a bit, so small a nod, in fact, that if it weren't for my extremely high visual IQ, I would've missed it.

We three, Fedex, Quickly, and I, got on the elevator. Fedex pressed 30. I pressed 24. Quickly flicked PH. It was a considered flick; concise and efficient. It made a sharp sound, like the sound a can-opener makes when it first pierces the can's surface. It was as if he'd been thinking about how to press the button the duration of our waiting for the elevator.

Fedex immediately conceded power to Quickly. Her head went down in a defeated slump. I saw her lips move as she occupied herself with reading the FedEx label. I looked at her and then looked at him. He was looking straight ahead. It was as if we didn't exist. I felt bad for the guy. I got the sense that he was embarrassed to live on the Penthouse floor. I say this because when he flicked the PH button, his head slumped in the same manner as Fedex's. However, he had not a label to read.

The doors slid open on 24. I said, "Good night." Fedex said, "G'night." Quickly said nothing.