Oliver Paul, twenty years old, thick head of hair worries he’s going bald.

Wakes up at a quarter past nine, fare evades his way down the 96 tram line.

Breakfast on the run again, he’s well aware he’s dropping soy linseed Vegemite crumbs everywhere.

Feeling sick at the sight of his computer he dodges his way through the Swanston commuters.

Rips off his tie, hands it to a homeless man, sleeping in the corner of a Metro bus stand.

He screams “I’m not going to work today! Gonna count the minutes that the trains run late. Sit on the grass building pyramids out of Coke cans.”

Headphone wielding to the Nicholas Building, he trips on a pothole that’s not been filled in.

He waits for an elevator, 1 to 9, a lady walks in and waits by his side.

Her heels are high and her bag is snakeskin.

Hair pulled so tight you can see her skeleton.

Vickers perfume on her breath, a tortoise-shell necklace between her breasts.

She looks him up and down with a Botox frown, he’s well used to that look by now.

The elevator dings, and they awkwardly step in, their fingers touch on the rooftop button… “Don’t jump little boy, don’t jump off that roof, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you you’re still in your youth, I’d give anything to have skin like you!”

He said, “I think you’re projecting, the way that you’re feeling, I’m not suicidal just idling insignificantly. I come up here, for perception and clarity, I like to imagine I’m playing Sim City. All the people look like ants from up here, and the wind’s the only traffic you can hear”

He said, “All I ever wanted to be was an Elevator Operator can you help me please?!” ... “Don’t jump little boy, don’t jump off that roof, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you you’re still in your youth, I’d give anything to have skin like you!"