Inside the elevator, you'd never know it was cold and gray outside. It was warm in here, and the speakers piped in a gentle music while the bulbs gave off a gentle light. Yet she was still painfully alone in the elevator. She glanced up at the little numbers, as it passed twenty, then twenty-one, twenty two. The number thirty-six was lit up, and she knew it wouldn't be long now.

This building was the Avalon Concorde. It was one of the nicest buildings in the city, so she figured that at least she would get paid well from this one. Asian, five and a half feet, she stood in the center of the elevator, against the back wall. Her black hair was down around her shoulders—he hadn't asked for much. She wore a tight white t-shirt and a nice pair of jeans, her glasses rounded out what he had referred to as “that typical college-girl look.” At her side there was a virginal white umbrella—the clouds had told her rain, but instead, it had remained quite dry.

With a calm mechanical ding, the elevator signaled that she had arrived at her destination. The doors open, she stepped out, as if she had done it a thousand times before. In routinized fashion, she walked over to room 3621, and knocked three times, as per the instructions. He opened the door, and he smiled, but she tried not to look. She always tried not to look—eyes open, but never seeing a thing. Sometimes though, it just didn't work.

Forty-five minutes later, it was over. She emerged from 3621 appearing much as she had seemed before. The down button illuminated a moment after her slim finger pressed it. A few moments elapsed. Again, the mechanical ding, as the doors parted, and she stepped inside the empty room. She hit the button with the star on it. The doors closed, and presently the car would begin its descent. As the doors closed, she slowly slumped down onto the floor of the elevator. Crying and with her head in her hands, she didn't know how to feel anything but humiliation. Again.

Suspended thirty-six stories in the air, she had never felt closer to hell.