"Right," he says in disguised disgust at her ignorance. If she had half a brain she'd understand the pressure that squeezed the breath out of him every single day. The stress of doing the job not only to his own personal best but to shatter each day like a lightning bolt that zagged his name in charred letters into the wooden minds of his bosses.

"My mother's birthday...this weekend..." she says but she knows she has already lost.

"Sorry, but I don't think my not being here will stop her from getting older." He knows he's home free now. He can feel the steel straps unwind from his heart, can almost take a deep breath. He stops sweating.