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The elevator's dead on the fourth floor again.

I’m not going up to that quiet, not then.

So I sit in the lot where the halogen glows,

and the hum of the milk-fridge is all that I know.

A moth hits the sign that says 'Caution: Wet Floor,'

beating its wings like a hand on a door.

It wants to get in where the light is too bright.

I’m just staying here to avoid the whole night.