“Please step out to the garage or the back porch while you smoke.”

The heavy fire door between the kitchen and the garage unlatched with a loud metallic click.

Mark walked into the room carrying his black leather briefcase and a fat stack of junk mail under his arm.

He set the briefcase on the floor by the pantry door, took four fast, heavy strides across the tile floor, and struck me across the left cheek with his open right hand.

The smack of his palm against my skin sounded like a dry pine board snapping over a knee.