Friday . . . well, I still didn’t know what more could go wrong, but it was already a bloody miserable day just the same. It had been raining steadily for the entire month of November, and Seattle residents were starting to joke about 2057 being the year when they’d finally need to build their arks. Nobody even looked at the sky any more; it was always the same lead-gray. The constant drizzle combined with the condensation in my basement flat to produce a faint miasma of mold. Not that I could smell it. My sinuses were filled with concrete. At least, that’s how it felt.