“Good luck on Thursday.”

I hit send and laid the phone face down next to the toaster.

I didn’t wait for a reply, and I didn’t check whether the message changed to read.

I picked up my coffee mug and my work badge and walked out to the parking garage under the building.

By eight forty-five, the morning traffic on Interstate 80 had thinned to a steady stream of commuters.

I drove south across the city, listening to the hum of the radial tires on the dry pavement.