He walked out of the box truck, pressed his finger against a small screen near the exit of the factory, then slipped under the descending factory garage door. The rumbling door and its echo slammed shut; the vacuum of sound felt unnatural to the man. His mind anticipated some further motion. He felt as if he still carried the sounds of the factory with him. It would take a little while before he’d want to meet people.

As he waited at the stop, a bundled woman’s porcelain face flashed with the glow of her phone. Green and yellow dots danced across smooth cheekbones and thin pink lips. Her eyelashes seemed to ripple from the light of the game.

The woman lifted her eyes from the screen only when the bus arrived, and just to scramble for change. Reed sat beside her, and laid a hand on her thick, beige beret. She didn’t notice. He gently tugged on the hat, and off it came. Her auburn hair draped down over her face, free.

“Hey, what —” the woman looked up from the game.