It would be wrong for me to say, I saw a difference. There was no change in face or form. I cannot say, I felt a difference. Her skin was obviously soft. But I did feel a difference. Perhaps that is naive. But then who uses a word like naive to convince themselves of anything. Yet, her shoulder. Such a fickle part. A simple representaion of this girl who's more than just a shoulder. There is ofcourse, the elevator in which we wait. There is the small dog at her heel. There is the building which wraps around the elevator shaft, and there are people on each floor doing humanely things. There are clouds outside this building and cars, lights, planets and suns. There are tickets and bills, babies being born, people dying silently and people dying horribly. But I am in this elevator, and all I can think of - no, I cannot say I'm thinking - I am feeling, her shoulder. And if it wasn't for these black suits between us, I'd be feeling her shoulder.