She gathered the paper bills, folded them in half, and pushed them deep into the narrow leather slot behind her driver’s license.

She picked up two of the silver quarters, set them beside the coffee cup to cover the bill, and closed her purse.

By eight o’clock, the street lamps along Elmwood Avenue were throwing long yellow rectangles across the bare pine floorboards of the studio flat.

The small room was silent except for the low, steady rattle of the cold iron heating pipes along the plaster wall.

Her heavy wooden drafting table stood near the street window, its tilted oak surface catching the pale yellow lamplight.