In an elevator--a lift--one of those tiny Paris ones, generally an afterthought, that rise five floors, surrounded by the original spiral stairwell, carpeted in red. Five floors, not six, because the sixth floor is the level of the maid's rooms (cupboards, rather), reached by service stairs. It's a wire cage, it's a little box, maybe there's a mirror on the back wall. With room for two people. A mirror with room for two people. A cube of dreams, of fantasies. A between-space. Erotic. In a department, store, a hotel, an airport. Like the WC on a bullet train.
Cloud cover almost the whole way, clearing over Baffin Island, where there was no icepack, over Northern British Columbia, where there was snow.
Between time. It is raining on the carport roof. Gold coins on the birch tree.