The Last Long Walk Home

  He came to another intersection. Small storefronts lined the streets, and people streamed down the sidewalks.

  “Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” he said to himself, and though he didn’t recognize any of the stores, he was encouraged by the sight of a large blue object sitting on the sidewalk just off one of the corners. It was a landmark, sure enough, a sign he was going in the right direction.

  He walked up to it, placed his hand on the shiny blue surface. It was cold. He looked around, beyond the people passing by, but nothing else looked familiar.

  He couldn’t have said how long he stood there like that, but when he looked down, he saw his hand was still resting on the mailbox. He snorted. “Sure,” he muttered, thinking, Of course, you know a mailbox. They all look the same, no matter where you go.

  Which meant he was no closer to getting home.