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| Barry Sutton pulls over into the fire lane at the main entrance of the Poe Building, an Art Deco tower glowing white in the illumination of its exterior sconces. He climbs out of his Crown Vic, rushes across the sidewalk, and pushes through the revolving door into the lobby. || Barry Sutton locks up his Crown Vic and squeals it to a halt on the sidewalk outside an art deco meringue. <br>The Poe Building glows under the glare of virgin sconces and thrusts skyward like some priapic, machine-age gorgon. <br>Sutton checks his tie in the wing mirror. He mutters, “okay, Baz-boy, let’s rock this,” exits the sled, bolts through the Poe’s revolvers and barks: “POLICE! Hold that goddamn elevator!” || ''Terrible'' first line, with far too much detail. Do we care that it is a fire lane, or the main and not some other entrance, or that Barry has arrived by car, or that it is a Crown Victoria? Unless he is in such a hurry to have squealed up, mounted the sidewalk and bounded out of his vehicle, leaving the door open to the ignored complaints of the doorman, we do not. But hey... I like that. The present tense is a constraining affectation, but let’s run with that. <br>What kind of a name is Barry Sutton, by the way? | | Barry Sutton pulls over into the fire lane at the main entrance of the Poe Building, an Art Deco tower glowing white in the illumination of its exterior sconces. He climbs out of his Crown Vic, rushes across the sidewalk, and pushes through the revolving door into the lobby. || Barry Sutton locks up his Crown Vic and squeals it to a halt on the sidewalk outside an art deco meringue. <br>The Poe Building glows under the glare of virgin sconces and thrusts skyward like some priapic, machine-age gorgon. <br>Sutton checks his tie in the wing mirror. He mutters, “okay, Baz-boy, let’s rock this,” exits the sled, bolts through the Poe’s revolvers and barks: “POLICE! Hold that goddamn elevator!” || ''Terrible'' first line, with far too much detail. Do we care that it is a fire lane, or the main and not some other entrance, or that Barry has arrived by car, or that it is a Crown Victoria? Unless he is in such a hurry to have squealed up, mounted the sidewalk and bounded out of his vehicle, leaving the door open to the ignored complaints of the doorman, we do not. But hey... I like that. The present tense is a constraining affectation, but let’s run with that. <br>What kind of a name is Barry Sutton, by the way? | ||
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| The night watchman is standing by the bank of elevators, holding one open as Barry hurries toward him, his shoes echoing off the marble. || rowspan ="5"| The porter grunts and jabs a button. <br>Sutton loafer-slides the last five yards of marble and hits the back wall. <br>“Where’s the damsel at, Jerry?”<br>The porter growls, “It’s ''Mike'', dipshit. She’s on forty-one. Hang a right and keep walking.” <br>The bell pings. <br>The doors clam. <br>The elevator surges. <br>Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and | | The night watchman is standing by the bank of elevators, holding one open as Barry hurries toward him, his shoes echoing off the marble. || rowspan ="5"| The porter grunts and jabs a button. <br>Sutton loafer-slides the last five yards of marble and hits the back wall. <br>“Where’s the damsel at, Jerry?”<br>The porter growls, “It’s ''Mike'', dipshit. She’s on forty-one. Hang a right and keep walking.” <br>The bell pings. <br>The doors clam. <br>The elevator surges. <br>Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and preps his A-game. || Flabby again. “Shoes echoing off the marble?” Please. | ||
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| “What floor?” Barry asks as he steps into the elevator car. || rowspan="4"| What matters here is a suicidal lady dangling off a parapet the 41st floor. Other than conveying the idea that he’s in a hurry to get to her, there’s no real need for any of Barry’s arrival, exit from car, negotiation of revolving doors, conversation with the doorman, journey up the elevator or across the carpeted expanse of the Forty-first floor. These are extraneous paragraphs: they give the reader no important information and tell us nothing about the characters nor their states of mind. And much of it is just stupid. How does an elevator “belie the age of a building”? Who honestly gives a shit that Barry’s ears pop — at least make it a nose bleed! — or there’s a law firm’s office here, or that there is carpet on the floor? | | “What floor?” Barry asks as he steps into the elevator car. || rowspan="4"| What matters here is a suicidal lady dangling off a parapet the 41st floor. Other than conveying the idea that he’s in a hurry to get to her, there’s no real need for any of Barry’s arrival, exit from car, negotiation of revolving doors, conversation with the doorman, journey up the elevator or across the carpeted expanse of the Forty-first floor. These are extraneous paragraphs: they give the reader no important information and tell us nothing about the characters nor their states of mind. And much of it is just stupid. How does an elevator “belie the age of a building”? Who honestly gives a shit that Barry’s ears pop — at least make it a nose bleed! — or there’s a law firm’s office here, or that there is carpet on the floor? | ||
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The elevator surges. | The elevator surges. | ||
Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and | Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and preps his A-game. | ||
Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a corner office war-room, cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. | Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a corner office war-room, cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. | ||