Chapter 27

“Can you use an extra pair of hands?” he shouted.

“Hop on,” the driver yelled.

How strange he must’ve seemed to those workers, with his uncluttered features and polished limbs, not to mention a woman’s scarf—pink, black and white with a rope pattern snaking through it—wound about his neck.

What had he hoped to find? Something of his office, something of himself, something that said that there had been such a place, that he had worked there, that it hadn’t been for nothing. Something.