A scent of dirty socks and day-old pizza hangs in the air.
Agents log into their phones, boot up their computers.
The large cube-divided room is dimly lit, cozy like a bar, or maybe a funeral parlor. This early there s time to surf the Web, e-mail a friend, tear open a package of Pop Tarts and relish the quiet. Rick arranges the plastic toy men on the top off his monitor. Behind me Justin plays FreeCell. Latrice paints her nails and blows on them.