I asked for the release form and filled it out standing there.

My handwriting came out smaller than normal.

The clerk read it over and tapped the date line.

“The eleventh.

That’s her first opening.”

So, nine days.

I put the pen back on its little chain and touched the brass clasp on my briefcase once.

Out on the sidewalk I stood beneath the awning of the check-cashing place and worked out the arithmetic I’d been dodging.