So, word reaches me, working out loud (#WOLyo!) under the stairs at work, from two separate sources within minutes of each other – surely a meaning to this then – that Wes Craven has been here years before me, in the 1991 movie The People Under The Stairs.
According to IMDb,
“Two adults and a juvenile burglar break into a house occupied by a brother and sister and their stolen children and can’t escape.”
Well, here I am, and there are escape routes left and right, but I’m hanging in there. Day one was very tiring because the spot light feels on, non-stop. It was also highly nurturing. Day two has been more muted, those people who were simply intrigued can go back to work; it is for the intrepid to return under the stairs, to renegotiate the terrain.
A tagline from the movie reads:
In every neighborhood there is one house that adults whisper about and children cross the street to avoid.
Maybe. Still, another hotdesk friend, at least two conversations – rich and direct – that would not otherwise occur, plenty of sharing and laughing through two pecha kucha presentations. I practiced my craft, in perpetual beta. I talked about work at a meta level with some colleagues. It is good to reflect.
Without paranoia, I suddenly wonder: are people taking the elevator to avoid what goes on….under the stairs? <insert a ghostly monotone here, kick in the smoke machine…>
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