Is that … it can’t be … we’re in a tree …” Jackson spluttered.
Stimple snorted. “How else are ya supposed to get up and down? Swing like a monkey? Oo-oo-oo-eeee!” Stimple scratched his belly as he bounced, little bits of food flying from his beard. Jackson backed out of the way as an apple core fell from overhead and hit the ground.
“Erm … you’ve dropped a few things,” he said, pointing to the apple core and what looked like a half-eaten granola bar.
“Heh?” Stimple bent down and picked up the apple core and popped it in his mouth. Jackson turned away.
Jackson looked at the elevator door. It was made of wood (of course), and someone had carved lines of flowers and vines into the bark. Stimple’s thick finger pushed the button beside it.
There was a whir and a churn and then …
DING.
The door opened.
“Good morning, sir. Which floor, please?” asked a voice that was very serious, very dignified, and very polite. Jackson’s eyes popped out of his head. Not literally.