“Let’s not do it tonight.

The agency wants a card at pickup anyway.

I’ll bring the final copy Thursday.”

“Thursday,” I said.

Which was reasonable.

Which was the most reasonable thing anyone had said to me in a month.

I folded the paper along its own creases and turned it over once in my hands, and it was warm the way paper is warm when it has just come off a printer.

The date in the header, beside the agency’s phone number, was that morning’s.