The bell rang for the next round. The fighter groaned, face planted firmly downward. “Get up,” her mind commanded. Even as the thought ended, the eyes fluttered heavily closed. Again, the bell rang. A hand fumbled for the only target that mattered. Enduring one last ring, she struck blindly. K.O.

The soft light of dawn casts shadows over a desk covered with overflowing ashtrays and empty glasses. The basket next to it is piled high with crumpled paper balls. Shaking hands lift a thick stack of pristine papers, slide them into the manila envelope, and seal it. Ready to send.