As the man closed the door to the panel, he sighed. It had been a long day. He had been called into work early that day as a power surge had fried the radio station's broadcast equipment. He looked up into the room's fluorescent lights and rubbed his eyes before looking down at his tools. He began to methodically place them in his toolbox when the clock on the barren wall struck midnight. As soon as everything was in order he closed the lid to his toolbox and grabbed his coat off of the only chair in the room. Putting it on, he picked up his toolbox off the floor and quietly opened the door. Slipping into the empty hallway, he slowly made his way to the exit.

It was times like these where he felt most at ease, when he could stare out the windows and into the cold, empty streets drenched in faint yellow light. Now, having reached the door, he pulled his gloves out of his pockets and put them on. Winters have been getting harsher over the years, and now they were almost unbearable. Having enjoyed the last moments of warmth before his long walk home, he opened the door and walked right into someone running down the street.

He instantly was thrown to the ground, William’s toolbox fell open, scattering tools all over the snowy ground. Stunned, he watched the figure, a 15 or so year old boy, hastily get up and continue running. He stared into the spot where the boy had just been before getting up. He got to work, setting his toolbox upright and tossing the tools inside. Once everything on the ground was in it, he closed the lid, picked it up, and continued walking home. It had been a long day. He would fix his toolbox tomorrow.