Xisco, the charismatic Spanish performer, takes a chance in a crowded elevator, his voice dripping with innuendo as he asks, "Which floor do you live on? I'm just coming." The stranger, a woman, bites her lip, her eyes locked onto Xisco's, the elevator's hum the only sound as they stand close, the tension palpable. As the elevator stops, they remain, their bodies almost touching, the silent promise of what's to come hanging heavy in the air.