The sedan plowed through a deep puddle by the curb, flinging a dark wave of street water over the sidewalk before speeding off down the avenue.

Five minutes later a pair of tall yellow headlights showed up down Elm Street, announcing the city bus.

The bus’s air brakes hissed loudly as the heavy vehicle drew up to the curb, its folding doors swinging open onto an aisle packed with commuters.

I climbed onto the packed evening bus, holding my wet coat close.

At nine thirty the next morning, the radiator in Arthur Miller’s office was clanking like an iron pot.

Arthur pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and set a certified envelope on the laminate desk between us.