“What I did was like giving a writer a possible topic. What the person does with the material makes it good or not.”

I looked around Allen’s office. Sparse. The walls bare. A few books on the shelves, mainly style manuals and dictionaries. On his desk the computer, beside it pens and pencils sprouting from a coffee cup. A legal pad and his tape recorder. No photographs.

“It must be nice having this kind of space,” I said. “Sometimes my cubicle feels like I’m inside some kid’s ant farm.”

Allen pointed at the print in my hand. “A few more photographs like that one and Hudson will probably give you his office.”

“As they say in Oconee County, that’s about as likely as a toad growing wings.” I glanced at the legal pad. “So how’s your article coming?”

“I’m still typing.”

“If you don’t have time for supper tonight, I understand.”

“No,” Allen said. “I’m close enough, just two more paragraphs. As a matter of fact, I was going to take a coffee break before I finished up. Why don’t you take it with me?”

We rode the elevator to the main lobby and were almost to the door when someone called Allen’s name. Thomas Hudson stood at the doorway of his office. He waved Allen over.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Allen said.

I walked out into a day that was a sure precursor of what the next four months would be. Unlike in the mountains, Columbia’s air already had a weight to it, a weight made up of equal parts heat and humidity. The first time I’d gone running after moving downstate I was sweat-soaked and gasping after a half mile. It had felt like I was exercising in a sauna. Ninety-one degrees, the Bank of America sign declared.

I glanced through the glass doors and saw Allen still with Hudson. I crossed Main Street. I didn’t go into Starbucks but walked three doors down to the Capital Newsstand. I wanted to see if the latest LensWork or Black and White was in.

When I came back out, Allen was waiting across the street. I waved to get his attention but he didn’t see me. He turned to go back inside. I yelled his name and stepped off the curb. A horn blared as a flatbed truck passed close enough that I had to jump back and grab a parking meter so as not to fall. Close. But not so close as to warrant Allen’s expression. As I regained my balance, my eyes still on his face, I wondered if Herb Kowalsky had looked much the same as he watched his daughter sweep down the river.