The day I moved into Lingnan Garden was overcast. Rent was cheap in this old neighborhood in the north of the city, but the elevator was ancient, the pipes were old, and the paint peeled from the walls in layers. I dragged my suitcase through the entrance. The stairwell smelled damp, full of lingering mildew and cooking fumes. The elevator doors were half open, caught on a rubber doorstop. A crumpled sheet of A4 paper was stuck to them with a mess of clear tape. In bold black characters, it read: Elevator Safety Notice for Nighttime. I glanced at it as I passed.
1. After 11:00 p.m., please do not ride the elevator alone unless absolutely necessary.
2. If...
