“Halden parked the truck and went down to the lake. He washed his hands first, and then his arms and face (scrubbing at the stubble), and—before he knew it—he was naked and swimming and rubbing sand on his chest, thighs, and up and down the cleft of his butt. He scraped his skin with the sand, released it, and watched it return to the bottom and with it his filth: factory dirt and domestic dust and—deepest, darkest grit there was—the fog of daily life accumulated over so many similar days, each filled with the anxious toiling that makes a man want to get on to the next day when there’s so much left to be seen in this one.”