Ray quietly closed the door behind him and stepped out into the early morning fog of Savannah. He hated the thick humidity that drenched his skin immediately, and the stench of stagnate water that hovered in the air. He despised the grotesque trees that strategically planted themselves in menacing postures on every corner, with that eerie moss that dangled like his grandmother's discarded hairnets he remembered seeing lying on her bedroom dresser, as a child. When compared to his dread of spending an hour on the treadmill, he chose to swallow his aversion to this horrid pit of superficial "southern hospitality," and began his routine jog down the abandoned sidewalk. A large motorcycle zoomed past. He wondered what the guy was doing out at 5:30 A.M.

Ray tried to ignore the nagging pain in his lower back that had been building over the last week and threatened to rob him of this time of contemplation and recharging. He was a manager. His life was composed of fitting numbers together to get the greatest profit. He measured everything in his life by the laws of economics: his relationships; his work; his time. His energy was geared at finding the most perfect balance in every moment and situation. He knew what to let go of and what to hold on to. He knew that life was only a series of trade-offs in which he had to lose some things in order to gain what he wanted most. He had become stoical in his ability to discard that which no longer benefited his cause. Ray knew that it was foolish to continue ignoring the pain in his back but he miserly held on to this hour of solitude, knowing that these few moments of communing with himself, as he pushed his physical endurance, were essential to his ability to successfully play the role that he had chosen for himself the remainder of his day. This hour was not an option that could be discarded without the rest of his world being thrown off-balance.

Ray sorted through the obligations of the day to the soothing rhythm of his Nikes against the pavement and the swishing of his nylon gym shorts. He created in his mind, the conversation he planned on having with his crew at the Kroger team meeting that was scheduled for 9:00. He needed to have the words that would get their lazy butts fired up and bring in more profits. He only had 3 more weeks to beat his goal for 1999, but if those assholes didn't get on the ball and help him out, he would not make it. He should have been content with the "Manager of the Year - 1998" plaque that hung behind his desk, but he knew that if you wanted to stay at the top, you could never let up your pace, and he had to make them understand that.

Ray mentally checked off all the things that he needed to accomplish. He thought about maybe asking Maggie to meet him for lunch, but he knew she wouldn't have time, so he discarded that one. He had to stop by and get gas on the way home, and wondered if Freddy would be working at the station. There was something kinda scary about that guy, and yet something likeable too. He also needed to take the Durango by the shop and let Jess change the oil and rotate the tires for him. He used to do all that work himself but in the economy of his life, it was more profitable to let a mechanic take care of it. Especially a good-looking one like Jess. As Ray jogged up the sidewalk to his door, he groaned and reached around to rub his lower back. He walked into the combination spare bedroom/office and picked up a pen. He scribbled a note to himself: "Call Doctor Reed," and flipped open his jogging log to record the morning's information.