He pushed the elevator button, stepped in as the doors opened, and let the brass panels slide shut between us.

By three o’clock I was at the kitchen table on Maple Street with logistics invoices spread all around me.

I tried to go over shipping schedules for my desk job in town, but the numbers blurred together on the white paper.

Bennett came into the kitchen with his socks sliding down over his heels.

He was rubbing his right sleeve cuff between two fingers, his eyes on the floorboards.

He laid a sheet of yellow construction paper on top of my open file folder.