The drive back home was quiet. It was eleven in the evening and a light rain had began to fall. In front of him, the traffic light had turned from green, to yellow, to an alarming red. He slowed down the car to a stop. The volume of his car’s radio was turned down low and classical music flowed out of it – collaborating with the sound of the rain on the roof of his car.

His thoughts drifted to what he would do once he gets home. He pictured himself seated on the couch with a trail of clothing marking the way he had come – his gray long sleeved shirt, his white undershirt, his navy blue slacks, his two white socks, and his black leather shoes. He thought of tomorrow which would be nothing more than an almost exact replica of today.

The light turned green and he lightly pressed his foot down on the gas. The car crawled forward before breaking into a run. The rain continued to sing with the sound of Mozart to accompany it in the background. He could see before him all of the tomorrows lined up along the blacktop street. Each one waiting for him to come, each one ready to chip off a piece of him away until there’s nothing left but an empty husk. He continued driving forward.
Sleep had been eluding him lately. Or maybe he was the one avoiding sleep.

He drove closer to the underpass. For a brief moment he thought of turning back, afraid that if he drove further down he won’t be able to stop until he was six feet deep. The dark, gaping mouth of the tunnel welcomed him. The hesitation dissolved into the night as the tunnel swallowed him whole.