Carla walked out of the conference room.

The heavy glass door swung closed behind her.

Michael stood by himself in the projector light.

The wrong numbers glowing on the screen looked like a foreign language.

He deleted the slide and typed the right figures into the empty cells.

His fingers felt thick and clumsy on the keys.

At six thirty the air in Derek’s shop smelled of motor oil and hot metal.

Michael sat on an upended oil drum near the open bay doors.