Walk in elevator.
Young, bald man with thick-rimmed glasses. Graphic designer, I think. Or photographer.
“You going up?” he asks, holding the door.
“Yes.” He’s already pushed a button. We live on the same floor.
Snicker. “Nice pink shoes,” he says.
I look down. “Thanks. It’s a new thing. I’m not a pink person.”
“Nope. Gotta start with the shoes and make my way up.”
He looks at the elevator door.
“I’ve heard you can fly in pink shoes. They have some type of magical power.”
Shrug. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too. I’m gonna try them out on the balcony.”
“Hope it goes well.”
“Thanks. You’ll know if it doesn’t.”