Reblog. Love this blog so much.
Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a high-rise. I entered the building and noticed a rickety, older elevator. I walked toward it and it spoke to me:
RICKETY ELEVATOR: Going up? I have to ask. It’s an elevator thing.
No way. I’m not going inside you. I don’t go in elevators. I’m claustrophobic.
RICKETY ELEVATOR: Good! Because I’m sick of taking people and their dogs up and down and up and down and up and down. All day. All night. I never have a say about the way I’m treated, or who I want to let into my life.
So, what would you like to be different?
RICKETY ELEVATOR: Well, after all these years, I don’t want to put just anybody inside me anymore. Why do I have to be open to everybody? Why don’t I have a choice? Why can’t I speak up and…
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