It’s strange, this elevator I’m on. Instead of a confining cube, it’s a roomy rectangle. In fact, it looks more like a hotel walkway between buildings or a museum hallway, than an elevator. It even has paintings lining the walls, lit artistically, and there are bright windows in-between.
And yet the thrum and the throb of its movement is faintly perceptible through the walls and floors. We are moving it seems.
I look over at the buttons on the far wall and see a sight worthy of Being John Malkovich. The floor numbers are all fractions. I only remember seeing 8.4 and 5.25.
I exit at a floor which looks like a mezzanine floor overlooking the hotel lobby, and the roped dividers lead me to an uber-chic restaurant serving a fusion of Chinese and American foods. The menus are gorgeous! The decor inviting! My hunger rapacious!
I eat a superb meal, and stuff myself to the gills. My companions are cloudy memories. I can’t remember who they are. Or if I know them, just that I’ve eaten with them.
When the bill finally arrives, I sweat bullets. The slip of paper tells me the meal cost a grand total of $622.00 and I have no wallet, and no money to pay for it. I look around for an exit. My heart rate esscalates. What will I do now?
Panic.
Photo Credits: Photo by O.Palsson on Flickr.
