Tuesday June 7, 2016
They meet in the stairway of the high-rise where they both live with their significant others. Seems a bit ironic now, “significant” “other”. No one ever takes the stairs. Floor two, three, four and five are all amenities (meeting rooms and gyms and a pool and a massage room). The elevator has only broken once in the twelve years that she’s lived there. Even then, people didn’t take the stairs.
They fuck on the eleventh landing. It’s their spot.
She buys him a pay-as-you-go cell phone that he tops up at the Seven Eleven with phone cards that remind him of travelling in Africa. They text at least three hundred and seventeen times a day, sometimes whole conversations in only emojis.