The woman in the elevator reminded me of the 90s. Her hair was wet, like she was in high school and had gotten up early to catch the bus or something, and she was wearing a plaid shirt. She sighed loudly.

"It's LA," she said, to no one in particular, or I guess maybe to me, because I was the only other person on the elevator, "there is no reason why anyone should work in a building with 31 floors."

I liked her. She was kind of punk and had this palpably defiant energy.

"I hate the 6:00 rush hour where the elevator stops on every floor," I told her.

She laughed, "Yeah, and the freaks who work in this building and ride the elevators with us," she threw back. She reminded me of Tanya on Hung. Except a more defiant Tanya, one who had owned her weirdnessess. I liked this about her.

"See you on the other side," she said as she got out.

Elevators are such a strange place to talk.