He snapped the bottom flaps of the box together with a dry, hollow thump.

“Leave your master keys on the desk mat,” he added, glancing at his watch again.

I took the box and walked down the narrow concrete hallway toward the break room corner where my desk was.

The big overhead bay door stood open, letting in the loud drone of two idling forklifts and warm spring air thick with yellow pine pollen.

In the little break room, three shipping clerks sat around the laminate table drinking four-dollar iced teas from plastic cups.