A sort of chill was his only company. Winter cut through his shirt with a cold blast of air, and he shivered. Once more, once again, rejection. This also was not home. Down the sidewalk he went as the shadows lengthened. It was not a far walk to his car, but it had grown longer, seemed far longer on the return. For a moment, he stood by the vehicle, looking up and down the empty street, a habit his father had instilled in him, but there were no cars now to watch for. He slid into his seat, turned the key—the signal clicked quietly as he gave one glance over his shoulder before leaving the curb.
Rolling up to the intersection, he stopped at a red light. His eyes scanned the road. No cars came from right or left; there were no cars waiting before or behind. He was alone, but the light was red. He sighed impatiently, though he was going nowhere, and nobody was waiting for him.
Tale Told 