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It was obvious though that it had once looked beautiful and memorable, probably sixty or seventy years ago. The entrance door creaked pitifully as I pressed the handle. I was about to start climbing the stairs (I had to go to the fifth floor) when I noticed with surprise that there is a lift. It looked downright ancient. I opened the door and slid the scratchy grate aside. In this moment I heard clicking of heels. The sound got louder and tiny needles began stabbing my eardrums. I held the door and looked back over my shoulder. A young woman was pacing swiftly toward the elevator. She was dressed in a light blue shortsleeved shirt and black above the knee skirt. She looked all business, obviously worked in some of the big offices nearby. I pushed the door wide open and the girl slid past me, entering the elevator. I smelled her perfume – delicate aroma of fresh flowers. “Thanks,” she said with a gasp, then scanned the tight cell squeamishly. “What floor?” I asked, pulling the. My plan was to make dinner for my husband and jump him. I decided to leave the toys in for him. I sang as I made dinner, confident in the knowledge that no one could hear how off key I was. Suddenly I turned and he was just standing there. I squeaked and jumped about a foot “Where did you come from?” I demanded. “I just walked in and you had the music up so loud that you didn’t hear.” He winced and shook his head “How did I marry a woman who actually likes country?” “You just got lucky I guess.” I swatted at him with a dish towel. Our very different musical taste is a long running joke between us. “Dinner’s ready, come eat.” “Only if you turn off that noise first.” I rolled my eyes and hit the pause button. As we ate he told me about his day. He had been given another new account and there was a ton of extra work involved. He looked beat. I sighed internally and quietly gave up my plans. We did a typical casual evening, made hot cocoa and watched a few episodes of our favorite show..
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