Ian’s daily commute clocked in at twenty-two minutes and forty-six seconds on a good day, with light traffic and fair visibility. If it was raining: twenty-six thirty-two. Snow could bring it up to as much as thirty. Whatever the weather, he knew exactly when to leave his neat apartment so he could make it to the office on time.

But as storms began to brew closer to home, and downsizing decisions loomed, his boss had neatly cut his commute down to zero minutes, zero seconds. He was making the return trip for the last time.

Ian pressed a button on the dashboard, and a man’s carefully cultivated radio personality began to drone, filling the 2005 Toyota Prius. He leaned back and let the voice push away his thoughts as he gazed absently through the windshield, cracks stretching like a spiderweb from the corner. Late October, and the grassy fields whooshing past were already grey and dead, color sucked from the earth in far-stretching splotches. The leaves had lost their glamour and appeal, now nothing more than papery brown slips that drifted listlessly across the road as his car puttered past.

The news anchor had moved to a story about water tank reforms in New York City. Despite the boring subject matter and even less enthusiastic recitation, something in it caught Ian’s attention. He had never been to New York himself, but the few friends who had visited came back with delighted stories about vast, sprawling museums and narrow streets criss-crossing; crowds of people bustling through rumbling subway stations and sunsets glistening off skyscrapers. He had listened as they spoke on the people they had seen, the food they had eaten, and the perpetual sense of vitality and ever-present life that filled the smog-scented air.

Too often in this town, it was easy to feel like he was the only person in the world; the lone survivor of some unobtrusive apocalypse that let the mountains hold their ground and the rivers stay their course while wiping out all humans but himself. The roads his commute took him through were largely barren, even in the busier summer seasons. Between counting the seconds, he tallied the living creatures he saw to dissuade this dark fantasy—it had mostly been cows.

But New York City… Water tank reforms aside, everything about it enticed him. He yearned for man-made beauty, architectural awe, and noise to fill his ears. His life had been too quiet up to now. Silent apartment, dull commute, speechless himself to argue the loss of his job. What he needed was a change—that’s it. Something more he could experience than winding roads and endless fields.

Without thinking, Ian deftly pulled over to the side of the road, setting the Prius into park. He turned off the ignition and sat back against the ripped nylon upholstery, fingers tapping gently against the car’s vinyl dash. After a few moments more of silence, he lifted his phone and began to type.

In no time at all, he was on the road again. Flight booked to JFK airport: duration one hour, thirty minutes.