Angela returned to her building only to find an elevator repairman.
“It’s out,” the oddly familiar fellow said coolly.
Angela frowned. Her apartment was on the ninth floor.
The repairman hardly moved his satchel or ladder as Angela stepped through tools to the stairway.
After an evening out, Angela found her landlord aggressively scrapping a name from the apartment directory placard.
Late on her rent, she slipped around him. He caught up just before the elevator doors slid closed.
“Glad this is working again,” Angela offered.
“What do you mean?” her landlord asked.
The elevator plummeted into the foundation.