Kristopher wondered if people who lived in penthouses stopped enjoying elevator rides. That churning in his gut, the one that made him nostalgic for elementary swing sets, was a sensation Kristopher loved. Though, he assumed it was tiresome, even imperceptible after enough times. He supposed that was what happened in a routine, nothing was special until a deviation arose.
The elevator binged, a posh, non-intrusive alert that meant you've reached the top floor.
Yawning, and tugging the toque he wore from his head, Kristopher stepped out from the mirrored chamber of the elevator and into the hallway. With a hand in his hair, patting errant strands into place and flattening the back, Kristopher took the familiar trail to Professor Morris' apartment.
Not that he had been here more than 3 or 4 times, but it was enough to have some sense of familiarity with the place. The environment was nice; a rich feel without the pompous air. Very fitting for a person like Thomas Morris.
Upon arriving at the door, Kristopher knocked twice, toque in hand. The other hand opened the flap of his shoulder bag, pulling out a mess off papers that had been clumsily paper-clipped together. He stuffed his winter hat into the now unoccupied space the essay had taken up.
He could smell flowers already.
