The footprints led away from the door. Only away, not toward.

Doesn't one have to arrive before departing? Were these from a creature that had always been there, never leaving until the leaving came?

A little bit along was a gum wrapper. Even farther was an upside down nickel. Near the curb, broken glass. But not a bottle. No this was glass glass with thick chunks where the bottom clinked with tables, counters and floors. Finally, it could clink no more and when it came against the asphalt and concrete it smashed into a million pieces instead.

But where did it go from here? Was there a destination? Was it just leaving never to arrive again? Did it ever arrive?

Clues were scarce. Who's to say any of this was connected?

No one was to say and so surmising had to occur. Musing and theorizing. Notes were taken, but meant nothing when revisited. Arrows went in disparate directions, but never came together.

The dog poo probably had nothing to do with it. Everyone had a dog. Many of them had little dogs that acted like animatronic teddy dogs that never stopped jumping, yipping and licking. Barely knew their name. Never stopped running in one direction until there was no way to go that way anymore so another way was turned.

No no, probably not the dog poo. Leave it. Someone will pick it up. Maybe.

The plastic necklace had been there a while. Dirt had coated parts, but other parts were shiny and new. Was it a gift? Was it what they wanted? Was the discarding an accident or for the purpose of hurting the giver?

A paper not picked up at the end of a driveway. Is it still a morning paper if you don't pick it up until afternoon?

The plane crash happened so far away none of us heard anything until the aftermath. The videos. The reports. The statements. The graphics. The tears.

A roadrunner crosses the path into present tense. Good luck. Like a heads up penny. Run along roadrunner. Watch out for the cats. There are cats everywhere. Except where the little dogs are. The little dogs and the cats look at each other from afar with great skepticism. But the roadrunner runs between and rules.

A big rat scurries farther into the cactus patch. Adaptation is the spice of life.

Cries of laughter, shouts of joy, honks of horn. They aren't California Stops anymore. Not at the four-way stop. They are Everywhere Stops. Or Nowhere Stops because nowhere does anyone actually stop.

Cars park in the church parking lot for lunch. For a break. No one leaves the car to go in the church. It's just a wide open parking lot. A place not the office to close ones eyes before being wide eyed at the screen for another half day.

Buses run on schedule, but what is the schedule? Where do they go once they've gotten passengers to their stops? They go on.

For Sale. Call for more info. Price Reduced. Sale Pending. Hot New Price. Sold!

Looking back now, the footsteps do come and go. Out to infinity and back to square one.

Matt Worley hasn't been driving much.