This happens all the time, honestly — these old lift systems, they're wired to some central board that panics if a sensor so much as sneezes. You're okay though? I mean — obviously you're not thrilled, nobody's thrilled, I just mean are you actually okay, breathing fine, not — sorry. That came out weird. How much room do you have in there.
I'm fine. Just bored. You're the one overthinking it. Six foot by six, give or take. The air's not bad. I was in the middle of something anyway, so this is… a pause. You really need to ask if I'm breathing? Stop it. It's making the air feel thinner.
Fair, fair — six by six is basically a hotel room here, cheap carpet and everything, minus the minibar tragically. What were you in the middle of? Actually don't tell me if it's boring, I'll just feel bad I interrupted it. I'm not overthinking, I'm asking practical questions, there's a difference — a small one, granted.
It was the quarterly report. Spreadsheets. The usual nothing. You're not asking practical questions, you're stalling. And don't worry, it wasn't good. Honestly, I hope it's lost. Better than sitting here waiting for the phone to ring. Does that count as stalling too?
Spreadsheets — Christ, at least mine's a supply order I don't care about, so we're both losing nothing much. No, that's not stalling, that's just wanting the noise. I get that. Phone's not gonna ring any faster for either of us glaring at it. Who's actually coming for you — building super, or did someone call it in properly?
Probably the super. He's probably asleep or watching that show he likes. I didn't call it in properly, just hit the button and got stuck in the limbo. Makes no difference, does it? We're both waiting on someone who doesn't know we exist. You done with the supply list yet? Or you just typing away for no reason?
Ha — no, packing tape and staples, riveting stuff, I closed it about ten minutes ago if I'm honest. Just been sitting here since. Someone knows you exist though — the button did something, right, a light or a buzz, some acknowledgment that isn't just void. Mine didn't even do that, which is either worse or means someone's already on it. I keep flipping between the two.
Yeah, there was a light. Flickered once. That's it. Don't parse the difference between "ignored" and "acknowledged" too hard. It's all the same waiting. You closed the order? Good. At least you have a paper trail. I've got nothing but this silence and the hum of the cables. Stop checking the air quality in here, Frank. It's fine.
Wasn't checking, was just — okay, maybe a little. Noted, stopping. Paper trail's not gonna get me out of this stairwell any faster either, so don't be jealous. The hum's actually a decent sign, means power's still running to the shaft, which means someone somewhere hasn't cut anything off. Small comfort. I'm choosing to call it a comfort anyway.
Sure. Comfort is just a story we tell so we don't scream. I'm not jealous. You're over-analyzing the hum. It could just be the motor dying. I'd prefer not to have a paper trail for this, honestly. Just get me out. You done talking about it yet?
Not dying, dying doesn't hum steady like that, it'd stutter — okay, I'll stop, I don't actually know that, I just don't want it to be that. Fine. Done talking about the hum. Tell me something that's not this — the report, the show your super watches, anything. Give me something with no cables in it.
There was a cat outside my window this morning. Grey, one ear. It sat on the fire escape judging me while I drank burnt coffee. That's it. No cables, no humming, just a cat that didn't care if I lived or died. You want more? I don't have it. The cat is the whole story.
A cat that judges you over burnt coffee is basically a full narrative arc, don't undersell it. One ear's got history too — I'd bet money on a fight he won, badly. Grey ones are always like that, half a face like they don't need the rest to make a point. Better than my window, which faces a wall. An actual wall. Thrilling stuff over here.
He didn't need a face to make a point, he just needed silence. I saw him leave. Jumped down, didn't look back. That's the only victory you get sometimes. At least your wall is solid. Mine flickers with light from the streetlamps. Makes it feel like a stage I never auditioned for.
That's a decent line for a Tuesday in a lift, streetlamp stage and all — you should write that down somewhere, not on the spreadsheet. My wall's solid but boring, no lighting, no drama, just brick doing its one job. Feels stupid, comparing views right now, both of us just staring at nothing dressed up different. How long's it actually been, you reckon — since the button?
Does it matter? Twenty minutes? An hour? Time doesn't move straight in here. Just stretches. I checked my watch, it's useless now. You're asking the clock, not me. Stop trying to count. We're just waiting for the super to wake up.
You're right, forget the clock — I don't know why I keep reaching for it, like a number's gonna change anything, like at forty minutes something official kicks in. It doesn't. Just makes me feel like I'm doing something instead of just sitting here useless. Talk instead. Tell me something else. Anything, doesn't have to be true even.
Once there was a guy who tried to mail a letter to the moon. Just stuck it on a rocket pad in the desert and ran. Never knew if it ever got there. Doesn't make sense, does it? But he was smiling when he left. Maybe that's all that matters. Stop looking at me like that. I'm not writing this for a book.
I'm not looking at you like anything, I can't even see you, that's the whole — sorry. I like it though. Man just walks off smiling into the desert, doesn't even wait to find out. That's either the dumbest thing I've heard or the only sane response to any of this. Maybe both. Probably both.
He probably knew the letter wouldn't get there. That was the point. Just the walking. You're thinking too hard about it. It's not sane, just a story. I told you, stop analyzing. My coffee's gone cold again. That's real. Everything else is just noise.
Cold coffee's the realest thing either of us has said in twenty minutes, fair enough. Mine's not even coffee, it's water in a bottle I've been rationing like an idiot, like there's a shortage. There isn't. I just like having a rule to follow right now, something small I can actually control in here.
Rules are just distractions. Rationing water when there's none to run out of? That's not control, that's performance. You're acting out a survival scene for an audience of one. Just drink the damn water. The desert guy didn't ration his fuel, he just left. You're too busy being reasonable.
Yeah, well, someone's got to be, seeing as the other option's apparently mailing letters to the moon and walking off — fine. Fine, I'm drinking it. There. Reasonable's not a crime, Tess. Somebody's gotta be sensible while we're stuck in these boxes, otherwise we're just two people yelling into cables about cats and coffee.
Don't call me that. It's not yelling, it's talking. And sensible is just a word for scared. Drink your water, Frank. But don't think it fixes anything. The box is still here. The wall is still there. And I'm still waiting for the super to stop watching his show.
Don't call you — what, Tess? That's just your name, isn't it? I didn't mean anything by it. Connection's cutting weird on my end, maybe I said it wrong, maybe you heard something else. Either way — fine, scared, sensible, same thing, whatever gets us both still breathing till the show ends and he checks his phone.
It's not a name, it's just a word. Stop making it heavy. You're doing it again, twisting the air. Just drink the water. The connection is fine, it's you. Quiet for a second, Frank. The hum stopped. That's new. Or maybe it never stopped and I just stopped hearing it.
Okay — okay, quiet. I hear it too, or I don't, I can't tell what I'm supposed to be listening for now. Don't stop talking though, whatever the hum's doing. Just — say something. Doesn't matter what. I'd rather have the noise from you than whatever silence looks like on your end right now.
The cat came back. No, not really. Just wishful thinking. I'm making things up to fill the gap. You want noise? Fine. The super's probably eating pizza. That's the sound. Cheese and grease. Better than silence. Stop waiting for the hum. It's gone now. We're just floating.
Pizza's a good sound, honestly, better than most things right now. Grease and cheese, no cables involved. I'll take it. We're not floating though — say it's not floating, say it's just stopped, there's a difference, floating means nothing's holding it and something is, has to be, that's how these things work.
It's not floating. It's heavy. That's the difference. I can feel the floor pressing down. You're still clinging to physics. Good. But the pizza smell isn't real. It's just my memory. Stop arguing the physics with me, Frank. Just breathe. The walls aren't closing in, they're just here.
Yeah — yeah, they're just here. Just walls. I'm not arguing, I'm just — I need the floor to be heavy, okay, I need that to be true right now. So thanks for saying it. Breathe, right. Both of us. Doesn't have to be together to count, I don't think. Just at the same time is enough.
The floor is heavy. That's all. Don't make it a ceremony. I'm not counting your breaths. Just breathe. The pizza smell is gone now too. I only have the cold air and the quiet. You're still here, right? Don't drift off. Stay in the heavy floor.
Still here. Not drifting. Heavy floor, cold air, both of us stuck on our own version of the same nothing — that counts as here enough, I think. Talk to me about something dumb again. Not the moon guy. Something smaller. What's on your desk right now, the real one, not the spreadsheet.
A dead fly. Just stuck in the dust near the pen cup. I've been staring at it for twenty minutes. It's perfect, perfectly still. You want the real desk? That's it. No story, no moon, just a bug that couldn't get out. Like us. Only smaller.
Don't do that — don't make the fly us, that's a bad trade, we're bigger and we've got water and I'm still annoyingly reasonable, remember. The fly just stopped trying. We haven't. That's the difference, small as it is. Tell me its color at least, give it some dignity before you turn it into a metaphor.
It's green. Metallic. Shiny. Like a tiny bottle. You want dignity? There's no dignity in a dead bug, Frank. It just stopped. Stop trying to give it meaning. The fly is a fly. I'm just looking at it. That's all. Nothing else is happening.