THE NEIGHBOUR

Arriving at my friend’s house this evening I saw, and had a brief chat with, the neighbour, my friend said last week, doesn’t call round his place anymore.
On my way home later, where Wellington meets the end of the motorway, me and the neighbour passed each other going through the roadworks in opposite directions.
Turning into my street I heard a car door slam and saw No.4 walk towards the entrance to the flats from his sister’s car in the car park and wondered if he’d wait to let her out or come through the front door with me and share the lift.
‘Alright man,’ he said and waved at me, which is how he usually greets me when we meet in the street.
‘Yeh, you?’ I said as he came over.
‘My girlfriend says the lift’s been playing up a bit but it was working when I used it just now.’
‘That’d be something wouldn’t it’ I said, ‘if both lifts were down and we had to walk up?’
I fobbed and he held the doors open behind me as we went in.
The lift showed G.
The door opened and a man wearing a light blue tee-shirt with ‘OTIS’, the name of the company maintains the lifts, embroidered on the left side breast height, walked out, smiled, said, ‘alright.’
We got in the lift.
‘He must’a fixed it, it’s been playing up a bit.’
‘I’ve been stuck in here twice,’ I said, ‘once for half an hour and once for forty-five minutes, luckily both times on my own.’
‘Yeh, I’ve been stuck once,’ said No.4, ‘but it’s the inner door’s been opening and closing without the outer door this time.’
The lift stopped.
‘Anyway, cheers man,’ he said, getting out and raising the hand not holding his walking stick.