The second floor was the most expensive. The ceilings were 3.2 metres. The chandelier was the largest. The balcony faced the boulevard.
The sixth floor was for servants. Sloped ceilings. No running water. A separate staircase so they would not be seen.
The machine arrived. A brass shaft through the centre of the building. And overnight, the meaning of every floor reversed.
The servants' attic became the penthouse. The same room. The same walls. The same sloped ceiling — now called "character." The only thing that changed was which direction meant power.
The machine works. You rise without effort. Each floor more expensive than the last. Each floor emptier than the last.
The same square foot costs three thousand seven hundred dollars at the bottom and twenty thousand five hundred at the top. Same concrete. Same steel.
The only variable is distance from the ground.
When the elevator is broken, we need to stay home.
Same city. Same decade. Same desire to go up. The machine went where the money was. It didn't go where the people were.