Brian awoke in a drunken haze, head still pounding from a night filled with intoxicants and anonymous sex. He stumbled through the hallway towards an incessant buzzing, Lester forgot the bell was broken.
He slumped over the call box. Stupid finger kept missing. "That's not it, why do the buttons have to be so small?" The buttons were always small at 5am. "Les, goddam, use the brick next time" A crackle.
"Short Man! Open up! I got somethin' big"..."Short Man" (a bastardization of his surname, Shoreman) was Brian's less than fitting nickname. His profession required a minimum height of 6'5", one he already hit in 9th grade. Lester flew into fits of laughter after coining the phrase. Though he was the 23rd person to do so, Brian let him take the credit.
"This can't wait till morning?" Brian grumbled. He was getting sober. He did not like getting sober.
"This can't wait five minutes B. Let me up."
Click. The gate opened and Lester scrambled upstairs. Shoreman rubbed his eyes. "Going to be a long day" he thought, then ripped the speaker off the wall. No more buzzing.
Brian rested against the ancient oak door - a gift from his first client. Carved from cathedral pews, it was meant to ward off evil spirits. If only it kept out the noise. The door could stop everything from poltergeists to grenades, but the walls were still paper thin.
A muffled "ding" from the hallway meant Lester took the stairs. His fear of elevators stemmed from childhood trauma, particularly an episode of being stuck in well. In his words, "They're both conniving deathtraps, at least wells are entertaining."
He slumped over the call box. Stupid finger kept missing. "That's not it, why do the buttons have to be so small?" The buttons were always small at 5am. "Les, goddam, use the brick next time" A crackle.
"Short Man! Open up! I got somethin' big"..."Short Man" (a bastardization of his surname, Shoreman) was Brian's less than fitting nickname. His profession required a minimum height of 6'5", one he already hit in 9th grade. Lester flew into fits of laughter after coining the phrase. Though he was the 23rd person to do so, Brian let him take the credit.
"This can't wait till morning?" Brian grumbled. He was getting sober. He did not like getting sober.
"This can't wait five minutes B. Let me up."
Click. The gate opened and Lester scrambled upstairs. Shoreman rubbed his eyes. "Going to be a long day" he thought, then ripped the speaker off the wall. No more buzzing.
Brian rested against the ancient oak door - a gift from his first client. Carved from cathedral pews, it was meant to ward off evil spirits. If only it kept out the noise. The door could stop everything from poltergeists to grenades, but the walls were still paper thin.
A muffled "ding" from the hallway meant Lester took the stairs. His fear of elevators stemmed from childhood trauma, particularly an episode of being stuck in well. In his words, "They're both conniving deathtraps, at least wells are entertaining."
