The road is some amalgamation of Rt. 7 in Burlington and 355 in Gaithersburg; yet at the same time it is neither. An overgrowth of trees abuts the road at each stretch, each intersection, each fork. The town is dense right along the road but unravels quickly into rural settings at each branch, every turn. On foot, I walk to India Road (toward the end of town, take the right fork, it’s the first impossible left, you can’t miss it) to drop off a package (for someone else) and grab a bite to eat. I am lost as soon as I arrive. Turning around from the restaurant, the city has transformed behind me. The roads move in different directions, many of the trees are gone, the fork has become an intersection. I set out on foot again, trying to navigate back but no matter what direction I step, my footfalls propel me further away from my destination.
A cell phone rings in my pocket. Answering, a familiar voice tells me to turn around. Need a lift? A truck stops and I climb in. I do not recognize the man (nor the voice) but he continues speaking to me, right where he left off.