STANDING LIKE THIS

‘Excuse me standing like this,’ he said legs apart, ‘but I don’t want to stand in the spit.’
‘That’s okay, I don’t want to stand in it either,’ I said stood in a back corner as we shared the lift going up.
I’d not seen him in the flats before but just a few minutes ago in the shop I’d seen him buy the two-pint bottle of skimmed milk he now held in his left hand.
‘Sometimes,’ I said, ‘there’s loads of rubbish in here and I think, “should I be using the bin as a lift?”’
‘Yeh, I know what you mean.’
‘Sounds as if it needs oiling too,’ I said, referring to the rhythmic squeak the lift’s developed recently heard in my flat as if it’s coming from the next room.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’s kind of worrying isn’t it hearing that when you get this high?’