Got a signal? No, don't touch my phone, just tell me. My signal is trash anyway. You know, escalators just go down, they never actually take you anywhere new, just keep you moving. It's like the lift, right? Going round in circles. Did you check the buttons again? Or are you just staring at that flashing light?
No signal. Obviously. The light's just a sticker now, Gil. I checked. Twice. You're right, escalators are a scam, total treadmill nonsense. But at least they have that wind in your face, you know? Down here it's just stale air and the hum. And don't look at me like that. I'm not staring. I'm waiting. Someone said they'd be back. Give them a minute. Or an hour. Whatever.
"You're waiting" is what you call it? Fine. But the hum is louder than my boring job. Did you bring the snacks? Or are we just going to starve on this treadmill? They said "be back," not "disappear." You're not staring? You're doing that thing where you blink too slow. Stop it. Just say you're scared of the dark. I know you are.
I'm not scared of the dark, I'm bored of the dark. And I left the snacks in the other bag. My bad. The hum isn't boring, it's steady. Better than your boss yelling about the Q3 projections. You're the one vibrating. Stop blinking slow, you're just trying to act like you're in a movie. We aren't in a movie, we're in a box. Pass me your phone. I need to kill a minute.
Steady? It's screaming. And I'm not vibrating, I'm just sitting here. You want the phone? Fine, but you'll find nothing. Just that photo of the cat from three weeks ago. You really left the snacks? Typical. You'd rather rot than admit you planned wrong. Stop trying to act like the hero in a box. It's unbecoming.
I didn't plan wrong. I planned for a quick trip, not a staycation. And it's not screaming, it's just the motor wearing out. Probably like your patience. Pass the phone. I want to see if that cat is still looking smug. You're right about the hero part. I'm not the hero. I'm just the person who brought the wrong bag. That's my only flaw.
"Only flaw"? Please. Your only flaw is thinking you can just swap bags mid-crisis. The cat looks smug because he has a full belly while we're here. Give it here, I'm done staring at that stupid sticker. You're not the hero, you're just the one who forgot to pack. Again. Stop making it sound like a tragedy. It's just bad planning.
It wasn't bad planning, it was optimism. There's a difference. And the cat isn't smug, he's just a JPEG. Give me the phone, I need to see if the battery is actually dead or if it's just you being dramatic. You're doing that thing again where you make a small mistake sound like the apocalypse. We're fine. The light is still on. That has to count for something.
Optimism? You call leaving the snacks optimism? That's just a word you use to cover up forgetting. The battery isn't dead, it's just bored of you. And the light? It's a sticker, remember? You're the one who said that. Stop trying to convince me the box is fine when it's clearly failing. Pass the phone before I throw it at the ceiling.
If you throw it, we're stuck with no way to call the cat. Which would be tragic, sure. But the light isn't failing, Gil, it's just decorative. Like the escalator. You're twisting everything. I'm not trying to convince you the box is fine. I'm trying to convince you that waiting is better than screaming. Pass the damn phone.
Waiting is better than screaming? Since when? You're the one twitching. Just give me the phone. If we're stuck, we're stuck. I'm not screaming, I'm asking if you actually called anyone before we got trapped. Or did you just hope the escalators would save us? Stop twisting it. The cat doesn't care.
I called. Twice. Before the doors shut. They said help is coming. You're acting like I abandoned the ship. The cat doesn't care? Exactly. That's the point. He's fine. We're the ones making this weird. Stop pacing. You're gonna wear a hole in the floor. Just give me the phone. I want to see if that cat actually blinked.
You called? Twice? Then why is no one here? Don't look at me like that. You're pacing too. You're just better at hiding it. Fine, take the phone. Go ahead, stare at the JPEG until the cat blinks. See if it changes anything. It won't. The cat is dead, Edie. We're the only ones alive in here. Pass it back when you're done pretending.
The cat isn't dead, Gil, it's a picture. You're the one who's dead inside, not the JPEG. And I'm not pacing, I'm shifting my weight. There's a difference. You're reading too much into a static image. Give it a second. The cat's been blinking for three weeks. It's probably just a glitch in the file. Like everything else.
You're shifting your weight? You're practically vibrating the whole shaft. And the cat blinked three weeks ago? That's the glitch. You're making up stories about a JPEG to avoid admitting we're trapped. "Dead inside"? Rude. I'm just tired of your optimism about stickers. Give it back. The cat isn't blinking. Nothing is blinking. We are.
I'm not vibrating, the floor is. You're imagining it. And the cat didn't blink, you did. You blinked right when the doors closed. That's the glitch in you. I'm not avoiding anything. I'm just bored. Give me back the phone. I want to check if the cat's eyes actually have pupils. Maybe that's the missing link.
The floor doesn't vibrate, you do. I blinked? Please. The cat has pupils, Edie, everyone knows that. You're just trying to find a reason why nothing is working. It's a JPEG. It doesn't have eyes. It's a flat piece of data. Just hand it back before you stare a hole right through the screen. Stop overthinking a picture.
Fine, no eyes. Just pixels. Happy? The phone is dead anyway, Gil. You're holding a brick. The vibration is real, though. Can't you feel it in your teeth? That's the building settling. Or dying. Whatever. Stop staring at the screen. It's not going to blink back at you. We're just sitting here waiting for the next mistake.
The building isn't settling, it's shaking because you're breathing too loud. And it's not a brick, it's a useless piece of glass. You're the one waiting for a mistake. You made the first one by leaving the snacks. Now you're just waiting for the next. Stop calling it a mistake like it's a movie plot. It's just you being clumsy.
I'm not waiting for a mistake. I'm waiting for the guy with the keys. And I wasn't clumsy, I was distracted. By you. You're breathing too loud, Gil. It's making the air thick. Just sit still. The vibration stopped, didn't it? Maybe we're free. Or maybe the motor just died. Either way, pass the phone back. I'm done looking at the cat.
The motor didn't die, it's just angry. And I'm not breathing loud, you're just listening to your own heartbeat. "Distracted by me"? Please. You couldn't find the snacks because you were staring at the floor. The vibration stopped? Don't jinx it. We aren't free. We're just quiet now. Hand it back before you start imagining the walls breathing.
The walls aren't breathing, they're just drywall. And I wasn't staring at the floor, I was looking at the emergency release lever. You're the one with the heartbeat. It's loud. Like a drum. Maybe the motor's not angry, maybe it's just tired. Like us. Hand it back. I want to check the time. Even if it's just a guess.
Drywall? Since when do you stare at levers? You were looking for an exit, admit it. The motor isn't tired, it's lazy. Just like you. Hand it back, you can't tell time without a signal anyway. You're just guessing. Stop trying to convince me we're getting out. The cat is the only thing that knows the truth, and he's a pixel.
I wasn't looking for an exit, I was checking if it worked. Big difference. The cat knows nothing, he's a loop. You're right, I can't tell time without a signal. I'm just guessing. But the guess says we've been here long enough that the snack situation is irrelevant. We're done with the snacks. Just sit down. The floor stopped moving.
Checking if it worked? You almost pulled it, didn't you? Admit it. We are not "done" with the snacks; we are starving because of you. The floor stopped moving? Or did you just stop listening? Sit down? I am sitting. You're the one hovering near the lever. Stop pretending you're not terrified. Hand the phone back. We aren't getting out by guessing.
I didn't almost pull it. I touched it. Barely. The point stands: we're not starving yet. And I'm not hovering. I'm standing. You're the one sitting like a sullen rock. Handing the phone back is pointless, Gil. The screen is black. The cat is dead. The lever is rusted. Just shut up and wait.