It is rush hour, again, somewhere.
And someone is dying in an elevator.
Somewhere between the 3rd and 4th floors.
Their heart had enough.
The doors clank open.
No one gets off.
A little sunlight cuts through the plastic plant in the hallway.
They are wondering their last wonder.
Oxygen ebbs and dims the lights.
The conductor bows.
Somewhere, it is rush hour, again.
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