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Emma heard a womans high-pitched scream from the street below her apartment. Later, she would wash her hands in the sink, enjoying the warm water trickling across her knuckles and she would smell her fingers and hope they still smelled like newsprint. It was so charming to read about it in a newspaper. It was so charming, Emma thought, that people still cared enough to do that sort of thing. The good Samaritan was pictured on the front page, an older man, balding but fit, his face darkened by smoke, and in his arms he held a scowling young boy, limbs flailing. The previous evening, a passerby rescued a boy from a burning building. How he loved the way his chest muscles burned after that tiny indiscretion.Įmma was reading the newspaper and drinking tea and feeling rather old-fashioned about the whole thing. He walked to work every morning and, at the last corner before reaching his building, he liked to inch the toes of his left foot beyond the neatly painted margins of the crosswalk.
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His bathroom was full of random objects to better aid in the quantification of things.
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If a shampoo bottle instructed him to squeeze a dollop the size of a quarter into his hand, he used a quarter to help him measure that exact amount. He believed in rules great and small from the Ten Commandments to the instructions on everyday products. Abiding by the rules, he often liked to say, was the foundation of a democratic society.