Don't worry, every idiot in this paisley-papered deathchute is implicated and we'll review exactly how, starting in the northeast corner with the shrunken old bat whose cough sounds like a marsh being drained by a thousand backhoes. When you stepped aboard on the third floor, everyone was molested by your floral musk which smells like your probably dead husband's mortician-manicured neckfolds and we all wanted to die and kill you and high five in the same instant. That collective hatred of your presence was the closest we will all come to a touching moment on this ascent into madness. So thanks for that, I guess that will be some comfort in your grave.
Moving clockwise, there's the guy in the hat with a terrible lone dreadlock snaking around his neck, matted like the inside of a diner bench, hiding his confusing clavicle tattoo. What is that, it looks like you spilled coffee grinds on your chest while waiting for some fake redheaded girl with two liprings and a beaded anklet that smells like a wound to wire you some cash from Arizona. It's probably some tribute to a drowned friend but sorry it was a mistake.
Next is the ferret-headed woman in the sorry cardigan who sauntered in from the 12th floor basically talking on 40 phones at once. How is your whole life this morning, stranger? Well, we all know that your son has lacrosse tonight, that oh my god your Diet Pepsi was so flat you almost threw it out, and that Donald may or may not have that file, because you know how Donald is, he's an unreliable person and you're not saying he's incapable well whatever you know what I mean, we do, we all do, Donald is the worst but whatever he's fine.
Then we have the little guy in the corner who looks like a child ghost bully, is really an...adult man? Here is a small list we've compiled for you to improve your whole self: 1.) Change your body to something that is less angular and repellent. Your elbows have their own elbows and we'd like to strangle you with your dangling earbuds. 2.) Stop looking around. What are you looking for in each of our eyeballs? We're all trapped in a moist, lurching coffin so close your darting alley mouse eyes. 3.) Step out of this elevator and just fall forever into awaiting snakes that each have your terrible face on their hooded heads, leaving behind your shoe, one green Adidas for the lobby lost and found box as a keepsake of your life that we've already all forgotten.
That lady in the blazer...she is just standing there quietly. She seems fine actually.
Then there's the sandwich man, who is gnawing on some flatbread calamity like this is a raccoon surprise party at the dump. Since we all now know what it's like to be inside your mouth, let's describe it for you: Imagine back to being a kid and going to the waterpark for a family vacation and clambering to the top of the tallest, windiest waterslide. Except, when you look down, instead of water, all you see are roiling waves of rancid mayo with rivulets of barf and chipotle seasoning lacing the turgid basin below. Now bellyflop down to the bottom in a sort of slow-motion horrorslump that deletes a handful of happy moments from your future with each viscous turn of the tube.
Finally we have a loving couple with arms interlaced like a beautiful new sneaker in the world's best Foot Locker, who have their milky drinks and almost agree on a rug they saw and here we go with the hands dipping in to each other's back pockets. Creeping in slow with a lingering rub of the jeaned cheek and although it is completely repulsive in ways the brain cannot fully parse it is also perfect and reassuring in ways the heart is certain of so we'll have to hate you for that instead.
