He handled the accounts.

He handled the mail.

Someone had stood in this room and ripped this into three pieces and missed the third one, or hadn’t cared about the third one.

Downstairs the refrigerator hummed and the hall clock ticked, and the house went right on being the house.

I laid the strips out on the quilt and smoothed them with the flat of my hand, and the torn edge of the payee line lifted under my thumb and crumbled into nothing.

The teller window at Fairview Savings smelled of toner and cold carpet.