Neighborly Breast Gloryhole
The groan of the old elevator softened into a squeal as it arrived on the 8th floor. A weak ding sounded from the above as the doors opened, letting me exit. I glanced at the various markings on the bare concrete to confirm that I am on the correct level. The potted fern rustled with the evening breeze, its leaves welcoming me back home. “The correct level today. I guess maintenance actually does help.” I mumbled under my breath as I walked towards my apartment. A woman was sweeping...