A memory.

Having riden so many gd elevators as of late, all over the greater manhattan area, I am pleasantly and awkwardly reminded of that one time I got stuck in an one with my ex boyfriend and my current boyfriend for 45 minutes during the intermission of my own play; the play which I wrote ABOUT an affair had with the ex-boyfriend while WITH my previous current boyfriend. (He, though, was not present in the elevator.) Ex and current made small talk, saying things that people say when in elevators, that are stuck. As they spoke, hogging our air with their words, I sunk to the floor, I think, and prayed for no boys, more air, more space.