NOT PERFECT

‘Hello,’ was said neither by myself, nor the man who wore a jacket had council insignia on and who I saw get out the lift as I closed my front door behind me.
I watched him as he looked closely at the floor. I rested my bike against the wall and put my gloves on all the while thinking which lift to take.
The man walked in to the corridor, seemed to hold the door open it took a while to close. When it had I followed him in deciding the backlift was best to use the place I was headed.
‘You checking the tiles?’ i said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They look better but they’re not perfect.’
‘They are better,’ I said, ‘than they were.’
‘Hmm,’ he said after a moment. ‘Better but not perfect.’