The lobby was noisy.

The line for the tellers wound past the metal divider posts.

I waited behind a man cashing a pile of payroll checks and a woman holding a crying toddler.

The wall clock ticked forward.

At five to four, a young man in a white button-down shirt called me up to window three.

“I need to wire one hundred eighty-two dollars to this account,” I said.

I pushed the Tyler newspaper’s routing numbers under the glass partition.