The day had been beautiful. Unlike the previous weeks of heatwave in New York, the temperature had been moderate-- just a tad too warm to be called 'perfect', but far from unpleasant --and the clouds in just the right number to keep the sunlight from being overly bright. Even the most reclusive of city dwellers had at least stepped outside for a moment to take in the uncommonly nice weather. Dan Dreiberg would have been one of them. If he'd been awake.
The day slipped by without his notice. The sun had dipped below the horizon before he even stirred.
Dan was a night person, after all.
The door to the basement pulled open without effort. Dan descended the stairs two at a time, a small bag of tools in one hand and a few old, former dishtowels, now stained with motor oil, in the other. There was work to be done, and there was no time like the present.