Start by saying this happens all the time. Push off from this if it helps: municipal swimming pools.

Okay. So — this happens all the time, genuinely, lifts get stuck constantly, it's basically a statistical certainty for anyone who lives in a building over four storeys, we're basically fulfilling a prophecy right now. You know what this reminds me of? Municipal swimming pools. Same energy. Everyone standing around a chlorinated box waiting for a whistle to tell them what to do next, except here there's no whistle, there's just — this.

Are you leaning on anything. Don't lean on the doors, I read that somewhere, or maybe I invented that just now, doesn't matter, don't do it.

How's your breathing. I'm asking because mine's fine. Completely fine.

Metal box, sure, fine, I'm not disputing the material — I'm making a point about the psychology of enclosed waiting spaces, that's a legitimate field, people write papers on it. Elevator psychology. Probably.

I'm not hyperventilating. That's just how I talk. I've been told I talk like this at funerals too, apparently it's "a lot," apparently my ex used to physically leave rooms.

Your dentist being late is genuinely worse than this, by the way. At least this has a mechanical explanation. He just didn't respect your time.

What floor were we even between. Do you know. I didn't look. I feel like knowing the floor number would help me, psychologically — give me something to hold onto, a coordinate, a — anyway. Do you know your dentist's name. Just talk to me about your dentist for a second.

Between four and five, right, okay, that's — actually that's fine, that's practically nothing, people fall further than that off ladders doing gutters.

I'm not deflecting. I don't know what you mean by deflecting, I'm building a rapport with the situation, there's a difference. Gary's flickering four is more relevant to my mental state than you're giving it credit for.

You said "I'm just standing here" like it's nothing but you've said it three times now, that's a — that's a tell, is what that is, my mother used to repeat herself like that right before she told you the actual thing.

I'm fine. Genuinely. I just think if we're going to be stuck here for the foreseeable, we should establish some ground rules. Like — no sudden movements. No singing. I don't know why I said singing.

We're not going to die, don't say that like it's a footnote, "if we die I'm leaving my keys on the counter" is the most casual sentence anyone's ever said about their own mortality, I need you to workshop that.

I'm not staring at the gap. I'm monitoring it. There's a difference, the gap is relevant information, the gap is basically the only honest thing in this box.

Twenty minutes till your shift — what do you even do, I feel like you've never actually told me, or you have and I've absorbed none of it, which tracks, I absorb almost nothing people tell me about their jobs, it's a real character flaw, someone told me that at a party once and I agreed immediately and then forgot their name.

Gary and his spinach gloves. Incredible. That man contains multitudes and none of them are good.

Copy shop furniture. That's — no, actually that's a genuinely bleak thing to say about yourself and you said it so lightly, like it's a fun fact, "hi I'm invisible on purpose," that's not nothing, Voss.

I'll stop with the gap. Fine. New subject, practical one — do you have signal? Check your phone. Not for a rescue call necessarily, just to see the bars, I find bars reassuring even when nobody's calling anyone, it's like a little proof the outside world hasn't cancelled itself.

Also — and I'm only asking once — are you actually fine, or is "better than being the one talking about gaps" you telling me something without telling me. Because that's a very specific thing to say. That's not nothing either.