6, 9, from her straitlaced dignified lips was enough to send another tingle. We traipsed over to the elevators, lugging suitcases, backpacks, and computers as we clambered on. Several people joined us, getting off on the second floor. A ‘mellow’ version of Purple Haze whispered from the speakers, dubiously orchestrated with flute, guitar, harp, and a large string section. The doors opened with swish and we clambered off. The abrupt quiet was refreshing. I followed the good