Let’s say this morning. Tuesday, very early in June. Cedar in his office. His office is a warren and a welter and a jungle and a jumble but ah, he knows where everything is, every sheet of paper, every map, every survey, every report, every work order, every purchase order, every call record, every complaint sheet, every carbon copy of every letter sent by or received by the Department in the years he has directed the Department.Every inch of every wall in Cedar’s office is covered with maps and charts. Even the ceiling is a vast map of the town and environs so that when Cedar leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling he is immersed still in the town he has sworn with vows immense and binding to protect and advance and celebrate and defend.He sips his coffee and goes over his list of today’s projects. He begins his day by thinking about each one—squeezing them, as it were, pondering them from different angles, listening to their shrill voices clamoring for his attention, eyeing them in different lights, pondering their substance (if any) and considering time, resources, energy, effect, precedent, implication, and anticipated public response.
