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slightly humorous to the casual observer. He didn’t drink much coffee, but having that first mug from the first pot of the day was spectacular to him. Getting to look at the whole newspaper before it had been ravaged and separated and lost was such a treat as to motivate him to be at the office well before everyone else. And of course there was the most important moment in his morning ritual.
    She would get there soon. He wasn’t sure of her name, though he thought he had heard her called Lani in the lobby out near the elevator. She too got to work early every day, hustled into the building, and then went upstairs to whichever company for which she worked. She dressed well but not exceptionally, which led him to believe that she was perhaps an administrative assistant, accounting clerk, or human resource specialist; working some position that did most of the work and received the least of the salary and distinction.
    Regardless of how she dressed, he thought she was stunning. He knew what Neil Young meant when he wished for a Cinnamon Girl . Her skin was as inviting as a sweet roll, and he could only imagine how sweet she smelled. When she ran, her long curls bounced and rolled on her back and over her shoulders. She really was a thing of beauty.
    Despite his attraction to her, he was still a little skittish about approaching women since his divorce. He watched every day as she backed her aged Ford Explorer into the same parking spot, checked her make-up in her rearview mirror with the colorful leis hanging from it, gathered her papers and folders from the previous night’s work, and then got out. More than once, he found himself hurrying to the office door and pausing before going out into the lobby. He just couldn’t bring himself to take that last but essential step. Besides, he reasoned, she was way out of his league anyway. She was beautiful and he was...well, he was him. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe he’d go out and actually strike up a conversation, introduce himself, open a door of opportunity perhaps. Maybe today he wouldn’t go out into the lobby only to head directly to the men’s room. She probably thought he had some kind of bladder condition, if she thought anything about him at all.
    He tried to shake off his doubts, sipping his coffee, flavored with a cinnamon creamer, in nearly complete silence. There was the buzz of the office computer server, the high pitched white noise of the computers themselves, and the barely audible click of the analog wall clock hanging near the door. The quiet was nice, comforting maybe. And so he waited for her.

Chapter 8
     
     
    Arriving at his office building earlier than usual, Kurt Tolliver sat and waited in the comfort of his car. He was just so happy with his most recent acquisition: a green Subaru Forrester. He fidgeted with the overhead digital temperature display, clock, and compass. He was still finding new features on his car, a veritable treasure trove of gadgets and extras. The sound dampening glass very nearly muted the approaching sirens of the emergency vehicles.
    He, like most people in Anchorage, was not necessarily indifferent to sirens like those unfortunate souls consigned to the life of a large American city. He was, however, distracted, and in the back of his mind he remembered that they were awfully close to the hospital. The occasional siren was not completely out of the ordinary. Perhaps the sheer numbers of sirens and the feeling that they were all converging exactly where he was should have warranted some concern, but, again, he was distracted with his new car.
    He got out, started to step away, and then remembered his briefcase in his back seat. He pressed the button on his door remote and, opening the rear door on the driver side, leaned into the backseat, reaching all the way across to the opposite side. The “new car” smell greeted him again like it was the first time its doors had ever been opened.

Chapter 9
     
     
    Neil,