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I stand in the elevator with my arms crossed,
And my head down,
Listening to whatever New-Ae classical remix of "Hotline Bling" is playing through the speakers.
I attempt to cling to the corners of this five-by-seven foot box because the man I am stuck inside with smells like cigarettes and whiskey
His arms move closer to me, and my body tries to move further away
The box becomes more crowded
And he and I have collided
I am afraid now that my neck smells like whiskey
That in whatever happens next, they will be thinking that I was drinking
Too intoxicated to say no to whatever advances the man in the elevator has to offer me
To give me
To force on me
Our bodies are forced together by the people in this elevator
And none of them say a word
None of them pay attention
Their eyes are focused on the doors ahead
On the New-Age classical remix of "Hotline Bling"
On FLOOR FIVE and FLOOR SIX
They don’t dare look behind them
No one ever looks behind them in an elevator
This man’s hands trace my leg now
And he looks at me like he hasn’t eaten in days
I attempt to place my purse between us
It is now easier for him to steal my money and harder to steal my body
This body that looks young enough to be his daughter
And small enough for him to break
This body that is wedged between corner
And dirt under fingernails
And high heels
This body lost and ignored
Drowning under the sounds of cell phones beeping
And cell phones blinging
And the footsteps of the people leaving the elevator