On the first floor of the buildingthe morning has a smell.Before the elevatora child stands alone,holding a long umbrella sideways.
The button is high.The fingers can reach,but the bag is up on the shoulder,its flap open a little at the back.
A woman by the mailboxesfolds a sheet of paper.She does not lift her eyes.The elevator has not come yet.
She reaches outand lightly pressesthe open button.The child's umbrellaclicks softly against the wall.
Inside it is white,like a box.The child steps inand says nothing.The paper's corner rests on a finger.
The doors close.The woman stands againbefore the mailboxes.The white of the buttonsinks back into the wall.