It was long ago, but I remember it as yesterday, the joy that deep. I once had a gallery and art office in an old converted hotel. All types of artists were there. The building just had one elevator. Few of us paid much attention, its darkness lit by a dim light, it just transported us from one floor to another.
The painters liked floor 3, the light and all. Besides they always thought they were the best artists. Colorful to the one. Photographers took floor 2, the in-between one. Perhaps never sure of their status in the art world. The writers were scattered mostly in the basement and corners of floor 1. Like the painters they had an air about them, tearing off the numeral 1 on elevator keyboard and replacing it with an A, just so everyone would know.
We all flourished there, sharing ideas and dreams. All the time being transported back and forth on a forgotten elevator between worlds...
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