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When you were a child you had an extraordinary fear of elevators; you were afraid of getting into them,afraid of leaping over the black rubber crevasse, afraid of them stopping mid-air.  You dreaded the pitch of your stomach as the elevator soared or dropped.  But you’d endure this fear if only for the pleasure of pressing the buttons, making the numbers glow read or green.

(Stephanie Bishop, ‘Weatherman’, Southerly 74.1)

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