Our actions weren’t coordinated, but they weren’t unique. I’d look up, he’d look down, she’d check her watch. Eyes never made four. Lips never made conversation. We were close, yet distant. It was dead quiet, apart from the surrounding creaking of moving parts. We did it every day, but everyday was the same.
The doors opened. Man, I hate elevators.
2 comments:
I like the imagery I got when I was reading the uncoordinated movements. Very true of an elevator.
ohh so true. Why does everyone always feel so awkward in an elevator?
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