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Pressed to the mid-height panelling of the closed-in elevator walls, the liftman knew someone would ask for him. In three moments time the bell rung. The liftman rolled the circular swivel to the left and the trolley lowered in compliance. With open but absent eyes, the liftman inched the trolley to meet the square dugout of the first floor. He opened the fence and as always watched the fence diamonds cinching together into one until they were truly squeezed in-file.

Swivel turned right en route upstairs, the only preoccupation the liftman had was the rim of his cap – some part was pressed into the brim of his skull. The short, tan cylinder of a cap was not exactly in disrepair, but couldn’t sell for new. He restored the handle to the centre, opened the fence and let his body count for five seconds. He shifted his hat clockwise into a spot that was inoffensive. Only after the event did he recognise that anyone had been in the elevator at all.

If required, he could not mention the faces or clothing of whichever number of people just used his services. Not truly bothered, in a removed spirit, he leant left on the switch and let the elevator comply once again. He waited on the bottom floor, gate closed. It was all the same that he should be on the bottom floor. The floors were only an objective, when asked, for him to routinely climb. What was of consequence to him were the confines of his day-to-day. To him there was nothing more to know than his box.

The walls were faced with an old-fashioned terracotta panelling and housed copper floor and ceiling. The floor showed much more of the use than the ceiling and seemingly served only the purpose of letting people compare the below scuffing to the above. At the time of implementation, management argued the panelling screamed fashion and edge. Yet in three long years (one year by the watch of any major metropolis’ fashion sense) they had moved so far out of fashion as to evoke disgust. The liftman had at one time meant to inform management but the thought had been written over by many of his other more important thoughts.

His picture of management was a shapeless crowd of individuals operating at an unreachable distance from himself. Management was actually one sincere, shrewd gentleman pulled far too thin by the breadth of all apartment tasks. Underneath the manager were three janitorial staff, one part-time cleaner and the other liftman beside himself who graced everyone on Mondays. The lone manager’s name was the only he knew. This was his only point of contact to interact with his idea of “management”.

In truth, of which he was unaware, he could not actually remember the manager’s name but his face was familiar enough and he recognisably dragged his feet.

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