I pull into a church parking lot and settle into my seat. Driving through my old neighborhood has shown me nothing but roads littered with glass, medians muddled in confusion, and front yards filled with loss. So much has changed Baker’s Mill while I have been gone, but I feel I am the same person I was when I left.

With the silence that came from turning off the car came the ticking of my watch. I peer down through the watch’s lens only to remember that it can’t tell time. There was a portrait of space where numbers and notches for the hours of the day should have been; as of currently, the minute hand was making its way towards the starry nose of Sirius.

I pull my head up from my watch to see in front of the church a newly paved road. Having never driven on it myself, the destination it leads to seems ambiguous. I feel a sudden urge to drive on it anyways. The ticking of my watch is growing louder, and my hand is guiding the keys back into the ignition. I pull up to the new road, my back upright and my eyes widened with the excitement of this unknown road. I take a right onto it and barrel down through the blackness of the night, leaving the flakes of glass that had gathered on my wheels in a trail behind me.

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