Maud pulled the keys from the lock with a jangle and tossed them into the bowl with a clink, then stomped and scraped her feet on the stiff-bristled coir mat to remove any dirt or dust or grime, and kicked the door behind her with a click and a thud, concluding with a sigh that familiar six-second symphony of sounds that marks another day plucked from the future, processed, chewn, and archived.