Her voice, screaming, “Help, Superman!”
The sound of his chair, scraping backwards against the floor. The smell of stale coffee on the corner of his desk. The cool brush of the bullpen’s air conditioning passing over the hairs on his arm. The sight of Jimmy crossing towards Perry’s office; the scent of the freshly developed photo prints in his hands. The flavor of a speck of powdered sugar stuck to his left back molar. The sensation of his foot hitting the floor as he heads towards the door.
The sound of her heartbeat.
