Living near a busy street can be odd. You get used to the drone of cars. When that drone isn't there, it's absence is palpable, as if the world is holding its breath.
You go out onto your porch and see the cars aren't there. If your neighbors aren't around, the situation starts to get even weirder.
"Where are the cars?" you ask. "This isn't Sunday morning. This is Friday afternoon. There should be cars."
No cars come and the dark voice in your head starts whispering.
This is it. The zombie apocalypse has arrived.
Still no cars come.
Just as you begin straining your ears to hear the pitter-patter of a barefoot madman, the neighbors come out and start grilling. Friendly chatter wafts over the fence with the smoke and you spot the shine of chrome on the street again.
You realize that the apocalypse isn't coming today.
Maybe with a little regret.
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