Kip Barrington returned like a vacation ad that learned how to walk.
He entered the lounge with sunglasses on indoors, a rolling carry-on behind him, and a Bluetooth earpiece that he never once used but always had blinking.
"Gentlemen," he said, despite the mixed crowd and zero need for the plural.
"I won't be here long. Just stopping by before my flight."
No one asked where.
He told us anyway.
"Bali."
Jude looked up from his vending machine sandwich, chewing slowly like he was trying to mute himself.
Trevor sighed and refilled the sanitizer dispenser.
Marcus stared at a blank chart, clearly weighing the ethics of forging a flight delay.
I just sipped my coffee.
Kip continued.
"Corporate strategy retreat. Private villa. Rooftop spa. There's an executive yoga session followed by keynote pitches on actionable insight loops."
Jude blinked. "Did you just say 'keynote yoga'?"
Kip smiled. "The resort's been closed to the public. It's invite-only. If you climb the right ladders, these things open up."
He winked. Actually winked.
"Maybe someday you'll get to do this too. Perks of performance, right?"
None of us said anything.
We didn't have to.
Because Kip was already too loud to hear silence.
He looked at Trevor.
"Still mopping, huh? Man, I remember those days. Had to keep your head down, work hard, hope someone notices."
Trevor nodded. "You remember that?"
Kip didn't catch the tone.
"Sure. We all start somewhere."
Then to Jude:
"You strike me as a guy who needs a getaway. You ever leave the state?"
Jude smiled slowly. "Once."
Kip nodded. "That's the spirit."
Then he looked at me.
"You're probably the thoughtful one. Deep. You journal, right?"
"Sometimes," I said.
"Right. Maybe jot down a few of my takeaways. Might come in handy if you're ever in upper admin."
We followed him as far as the hallway.
Kip stood in the center of it like it was his farewell stage.
"Anyway, I'll be in a different time zone for the week. Might be hard to reach me—unless you're important."
Another wink. Then he rolled away.
When the door finally clicked shut behind him, we all stood there for a second.
Trevor broke first.
"So. We hate him, right?"
Jude nodded. "With the passion of a thousand mop-wielding saints."
Marcus looked up from his chart. "Do you think he knows his carry-on still has the airport sticker on it from last year?"
I sat back down. Quiet.
Because while Kip was bragging about sunset networking mixers, I was thinking about the last night I spent feeding Harold, my fish, with my dad's note still taped to the fridge.
While he was bragging about luxury, he didn't know Jude once spent six months doing relief work in Guatemala, running medical aid supplies through flooded roads on foot.
He didn't know Trevor's art was featured in an underground gallery in Portland, drawn entirely on recycled packaging paper from the very supplies he stocks every day.
He didn't know Marcus—flawed, learning, guarded—was weeks away from finally having the courage to visit the clinic that treated his sister's illness… just to thank them in person.
He didn't know me.
Didn't know any of us.
He just knew his itinerary.
An hour later, Everett walked in.
Not like a savior. Not like a ghost.
Just… Everett.
Carrying a fresh mop head and a look that said he knew exactly who had been here and what he said.
Jude tossed him a glazed donut.
"Missed a show this morning."
Everett caught the donut one-handed, no eye contact.
"Did the show involve spreadsheets and a man who thinks sunscreen is a personality?"
Marcus said, "He's going to Bali."
Everett raised an eyebrow.
"I once went to Cleveland on accident."
Trevor snorted. "Did you pack a keynote?"
Everett leaned his mop against the counter.
"Some people travel far to be seen.
Others stay still and end up being remembered.
One's louder. One lasts longer."
We all nodded.
Not in agreement.
Just in understanding.
No one said it, but we knew:
Kip might collect miles.
We collect moments.
Moments of spilled coffee, folded towels, late-night shifts, hallway laughter.
Moments Kip wouldn't trade for the world—because he doesn't even know they're worth anything.
At the end of the day, I found a towel folded on my locker.
On it, a note in Everett's handwriting:
**"There's a reason the loudest people echo.
They're empty in the middle."**