Sunday, December 20th, 2020

I don’t get very far before the elevator opens again. A teenage boy approaches, sees me inside, and stops. He steps forward, then back, then forward, and stops again. I nod to him. Two unrelated people are allowed on an elevator at once. A young girl walks toward him, then an older man. The man raises his hand. It’s OK. They're together. They’ll wait. On the ground floor, at the coffee shop to one side of our doors, people sit outside with their drinks. The moveable furniture still isn’t there, but the yellow police tape that had blocked the built-in benches has come down. I get my usual snack at the supermarket. The woman in front of me in the express line has what I see at first as two cereal boxes. Looking more closely, I see that they’re the kind of slipcases that might hold art books. They have branding from vodka. Maybe there are two bottles in each, or something in addition to the vodka. She takes a long time to count out the cash to pay and then to put them in her shopping bag. When I get on the elevator again, so does one of my bosses. Once again, the doors open on the next floor. Someone approaches. My boss holds up two fingers and sternly shakes her head. The door closes. She lowers her hand. “I only use my hands. I don’t talk. When you don’t talk, they can’t argue.” We ride the rest of the way in silence.