When the air-conditioning shut off at 8:00 exactly, a sudden absence of sound that had measured the whole of his day, he smiled.

Silly, he knew. But if eighty percent of his waking life was going to be spent sitting in a gray corporate office-which, by the way, he didn’t remember voting on, thanks very much-he’d seize his little triumphs where he could. He arrived most days before six, in time to hear the fans turn on, and worked the same day over and over in a blur of predatory action, the headset so much a part of his body that he sometimes forgot to take it off when he stood up from his desk, got jerked back by the cord. Maneuver after maneuver, each the one that might get him out from under, might return him to wunderkind status, the guy who had cracked Hudson-Pollom Biolabs and made a quick half-mil instead of the also-ran everyone was starting to suspect he might be. Lunch at his desk, stolen in bites. A bathroom break midmorning and midafternoon, two quick white blurs to keep his energy kicking. Staying after the phones went quiet to read the blogs, make his plans for tomorrow, and try, in an amiable, distracted way, to figure out how to make up what he’d lost.

And finally, the retreat here, to his porcelain palace, to blow a good-night kiss to work and start the evening properly.

He pinched his nostrils, then rattled the toilet-paper dispenser like he’d been using the john. There was no one in the bathroom, but habits were important for the day he didn’t hear his boss come in. He flushed, stepped out, washed his hands, then checked himself in the mirror. Nose clean, tie straight. Ready for the world.

He smiled, made guns of his fists and shot the mirror, an intentionally cheesy joke meant only for himself-it seemed like most of his jokes were-and then headed for the door.

It was Thursday night, and his friends would be waiting.