It was liminal. On the edge of consciousness, the tip of his tongue. It must have been something he saw or heard yesterday and now it was like a nagging loose tooth he couldn’t help worrying. He couldn’t do anything about it until his break, he told himself, his work devices were locked until then. Pointless really, he thought as he drifted off in the meeting: was it something for the bike? A new pair of headphones? He’d have to wait until he could get into the site and start: “It’s something like…” They’d know what he was looking for.