Leo sat on the sofa, his body leaning slightly forward.
Cigar smoke swirled between them, obscuring Morganfield's face.
It was quiet here, so quiet that Leo could hear his own heartbeat.
Faced with Roosevelt's question, Leo didn't answer immediately.
He closed his eyes.
In that brief darkness, his thoughts went into fast-forward.
A heavy, viscous sensory experience instantly overwhelmed Leo.
'The musty smell of cheap instant pasta mixed with old paper seemed to fill his nostrils again.'
'He was back in that cramped, dark apartment, the sickly white light from the computer screen stinging his dry eyes.'
'In the center of the screen, an email from the Federal Student Aid Office displayed, in bright red, $137,542.89.'
'That number wasn't just debt; it was a mountain crushing his chest, making every breath taste of despair.'
