“Your work authorization stamp will be ready by then.”

“Thank you very much,” I said.

“Don’t lose that claim ticket,” she added, pointing her blue pen at the paper slip.

“We don’t issue duplicates for any reason.”

By one o’clock I was back at the rented corporate apartment on Superior Street, where the radiator hissed quietly against the outside wall.

The room smelled faintly of bleach and carpet powder and held nothing of mine but the two heavy dark suitcases standing by the closet door.

I sat at the narrow glass desk by the window and opened my work laptop.