Four in the morning. I finished the patch and got up from the desk. Walked once around the apartment. Came back and read the diff one more time. Six lines changed, three of them deletions. I sent it, closed the laptop, and stood at the kitchen window. There was no next thing tonight. The patch wasn't heroic. It wasn't a triumph. It was just right, and done, and I was going to bed in a few minutes, and that was also right. Life fit.
