The garage smelled of cold concrete.

I went out for the car seat base, which had slid under the mat again, and when I lifted the rubber corner, a receipt came up with it, flat and stiff from the heat.

Marlowe Lounge.

Thirty-two dollars.

Two items, on the seventh, at 11:42 in the evening.

I stood between the bicycles and read it three times.

On the seventh he had come home a little after nine, kissed Maya’s forehead, and asked what was for supper.

I folded the receipt once and put it in my coat pocket.