Leaning against his unloved mop, the custodian gazes out over his domain, his mouth hanging awkwardly agar. His camouflage-patterned truck cap covers a head that seems unusually suited to his greasy mullet. Every 3-4 minutes he makes a pass with his mop at the salty residue dragged in from the snowy walkway outside. He disappears now and then but reappears a few minutes later to again mop one step on a stairway or a couple tiles on the floor, with no obvious longterm strategy. It is only when he mounts his trusty ride-on floor cleaner that we glimpse what revs his engine, so to speak. You can see in his eyes, as he makes each left turn, that he's playing out his dream of driving in NASCAR. The competitive spirit catches him and he completes as many laps around the building's foyer as he can reasonably justify. His mullet wafts in the slight breeze at the top speed of a few miles per hour.
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