Straight ahead, through the beads hanging down from Ben's open door, I could see the blue sky, white clouds smudged across, the dark blue-almost-brown rock jagging across, highlighted with snow so bright it made the clouds look gray. And a rope hung down, a vertical line cutting the scene. And the line swayed. And then I saw boots. And a bucket. Then feet. And then a man with a squeegee. And I glanced down at my monitor, then back up at him. And I wished we could trade jobs for a day.