The labels blurred together under the fluorescent lights.

A regular customer came in for the morning paper at six-thirty.

He asked how my weekend went.

I handed him his change without a word.

I locked the market door at seven forty-five and walked the three blocks to Main Street with my hands deep in my coat pockets.

The town was just waking up.

The streetlamps clicked off one by one.

At eight o’clock Monday morning, I walked into Howard Finch’s office.