He gathers his leather satchel/briefcase/murse from a drawer inside his desk, loads it with paperwork that makes him look (and feel, because emotions, mostly pride and self-reward, are important for any human being when they have a job) professional and occupied, slips into his wool coat, a gift from Dillon this past Christmas, and heads out of his office, locking the door behind him.
He takes the elevator to the first floor. Some Maroon 5 song plays down from the corner speakers, upbeat, happy sounding, catchy because of repetitive lyrics. Each time the steel, iron, and aluminum cage declines from floor to floor he hears a soft ding, which mostly becomes irritating and doesn’t sound simpatico with Adam Levine’s music. Irritants of life are like this, of course: unrewarding, useless, but potent.