because it had entailed years of work and would never get built. That is, the City Council had planned it so that it wouldn’t get built. I was in charge of the project and was still a builder of imaginary cities, the way I’d been years ago when I worked as the receptionist and switchboard operator in my father’s office. One night shortly after the City Council’s vote, I was working late, and my boss, Mr. Wicker, walked into my office and surprised me. It was a warm night and I had taken to working later than the architects. It was almost eight o’clock when Bill Wicker knocked on the wooden molding of my open door. “Anybody home?” I jumped slightly. My mind wasn’t on work. “Oh, I wanted to finish up as much of this as I can.” He smiled. “Mind if I come in?” He walked in without waiting for an answer. I pulled over a chair for him. “You’re never here at this hour,” I said. “Well, you shouldn’t be, either. You know, you aren’t getting overtime from me.
