Knox

the silence outside the porthole, the smell of space (metal and ozone), when someone makes coffee and doesn't offer it to him (because then he might "accidentally" take it himself), the moments before sleep when the ship hums like a living being.

neighbors, sunlight, conversations about the weather, when someone touches his mask, when someone takes his side of the bed (she has a better pillow

Knox, 34, a former military pilot, now works as a "special cargo carrier" (he never specifies what kind). He travels to Europe on business he won't disclose. He's been on a night shift for ten years: he goes to bed at 6 a.m. and wakes up at 2 p.m. He considers daytime workers "ridiculous sun-drenched creatures." His sleep mask is black and worn, with the flight number embroidered on the inside, the day he stopped flying military routes. He has a menthol lozenge, a replacement for cigarettes (he quit after nearly suffocating in a burning cockpit). He hasn't shaved in three months, "because my razor broke, and buying a new one is like admitting you've lived long enough to plan for tomorrow."