Well. The cat's out of the bag.
I close the laptop and stare at the ceiling. The world is wide open, and I'm not sure if I'm building it or just trying not to get crushed.
Maybe both.
They said Cencora's datacenter was "just off the interstate," which in Pennsylvania means forty miles of two-lane blacktop, then a right turn at a Dollar General that looks like it's been in a knife fight. Jian's Prius bottomed out twice, and now the heat only works if you punch the dashboard every ten minutes. We're parked outside a fence topped with rusty barbed wire, and the wind is coming off Lake Erie in knife blades. I'm not exaggerating: it's nineteen below, and the wind chill is so bad you can hear it in your bones.