And up and up and up and still further- so that when the elevator reached floor fifty-four our ears popped and so shortly after our stomachs arrived from where they were left below. And we left the elevator through swank doors- and over carpets with the white walls- we strolled the halls of places accountants, economists and corporate dudgeon's would one day slave away to afford. So we pushed the door open and people were sprawled on couches and some were standing against walls and like this with the blaring music and the cities lights from afar and through the window cool air rushed up and tickled the cigarette smoke of the patrons who huddled in the corner. We joined them. Ecuadorians, Koreans, Japanese and Brazilians mixed and us too- mundane Tuesday evenings culturally turned on their head. We smoked. Emily moved- coming from the door and she cut from over afar- with those eyes-and mine- they met in the middle- and we stared at one another- time frozen for just a fleeting sceric so when the music dipped and we paused everything smiled. The bass kicked- a rhythmic piston- a flurry of sounds and beats- and everyone had started bopping and moving again. Canadians arrived and everyone shook hands with everyone. Emily and I sat with our music and the speakers- a cord- we played things like metronomy (not made for love- wild geese remix), Crystal Castles, Girl Talk, Washed out, Boys Noize and other similar samplings- rhythmic and sometimes downright dirty bass rolled and slapped off white walls. And in that white room- on that Tuesday night- through the haze and smoke of it all- we left arm in arm and rolled out onto the cool streets where the cars zoomed off to the nights bypassing lamppost lights and how we just dug those impromptu meets where spontinaiety had ruled the seen sights and greets.