“Then it’s not a bad box.”

At the far end of the lot, a black car waited with its engine running.

The attorneys stayed back by the lobby doors.

“I came out here because I wanted to see how a man carries himself after losing something he thought mattered,” Eleanor said.

I set the box on the trunk of my Buick.

The plastic astronaut rolled against the painted mug.

“I don’t know what that means,” I said.