As soon as Rock walked into the sports office, assistant editor Matt Spencer asked if he could have a feature story about a tennis player ready for the next day's paper. It was early in the day, but Rock hadn't done anything concerning the story. No research; no interviews; nothing. "I'll tell you what, Matt. I'll do my best to have it for you, but don't commit me yet. I'll let you know one way or the other a little later this afternoon."
Before he started, he found that someone had removed the telephone from his desk. He began to look for it all around without luck. After a few minutes, he found an old, stained, pink phone under some rubbish near a wastepaper basket, but he soon realized it didn't work.
It had been at least five or six years since Rock had been inside the Democrat Building, and he had forgotten where the maintenance office was. He thought it was on the second floor, one floor down.
He couldn't believe the change. Rock opened the door from the stairwell and was stunned to see vast hallways with artwork everywhere. It looked like a modern museum. There were hundreds of people walking or riding bicycles as if they were outside. The walls were made of glass, and bright blue sunlight washed across everything.
Rock asked someone where the maintenance men worked. He was told their office was on the third floor and suddenly remembered its exact location from years earlier.
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