“‘I do not know which to prefer, I The beauty of inflections I Or the beauty of innuendos, I The blackbird whistling I Or just after,’” I quoted.
“God, you are sexy,” Augustus said. “We could go to your room,” I said.
“I’ve heard worse ideas,” Augustus said. We squeezed into the tiny elevator together.
Every surface, including the floor, was mirrored.
We had to pull the door to shut ourselves in and then the old thing creaked slowly up to the second floor.
I was tired and sweaty and worried that I generally looked and smelled gross, but even so I kissed him in that elevator,
and then he pulled away and pointed at the mirror and said, “Look, infinite Hazels.”
“Some infinities are larger than other infinities,” I drawled, mimicking Van Houten.
“What an assclown,” Augustus said, and it took all that time and more just to get us to the second floor.
Finally the elevator lurched to a halt, and he pushed the mirrored door open.
When it was half open, he winced in pain and lost his grip on the door for a second. “You okay?” I asked.
After a second, he said, “Yeah, yeah, door’s just heavy, I guess.” He pushed again and got it open.
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