by J.P.J. Fox
“No, we’re not moving,” I replied.
The scrawny guy looked uptight when he first entered the elevator. Now he was panicking.
The woman doused in cologne said, “Press the red button.” The man wearing gym shorts and headphones didn’t respond, so I reached around him. He stank of perspiration.
The scrawny guy started gasping, then spat up vomit. From the sweaty jogger? The strong perfume?
The woman grimaced. “Press again and hold it.” She tapped the runner’s shoulder. “Can you help this man breathe?” she asked when he tugged his headset away.
He looked at me first. Spontaneously I inhaled.
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