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Rom

“We have to get to the airport,” says Com, “or someone I can’t communicate with might get on an airplane.”

“And leave?” says Rom.

“Almost definitely.”

Before he finishes the last word there’s carbonized tire tread on the ramp out of the downtown garage. “Play playlist ‘excited music with no words,'” Rom orders the car as they accelerate. Earlier he was playing music with words, but not now. This is too important.

But then, they come face to face with the impossible: expected traffic patterns.

“Have you tried calling her, or–” says Rom, inching forward.

Telephones do not exist,” says Com.

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