Elevator Man

The Otis elevator man was already having a hard morning, and it was only 8:15. He stood in the corner of the elevator, vivid in his green uniform shirt and matching pants, his hair and bristly moustache having long before gone completely white. Ignoring the office workers nearby, he leaned his forehead heavily into his forearm which rested high against the doorframe, and closed his eyes as the elevator rose. It always rose, except for those rare moments when it balked and he suddenly became indispensible. He didn't know if this would be one of his indispensible days. A copy of the Sun-Times was rolled up and stuck out of his back pocket, just in case it wasn't one of them.