The man was driving his car. Driving to oblivion, that’s how he thought of it. The sky was the color of a television, not tuned to a dead channel, but maybe tuned to a channel in which lots of blue was the presenter and their guest was some sporadic white tufts of cloud. With a disappointing lack of pathetic fallacy in the sky, the man sighed as he pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator pedal. There was never enough time. Never enough time to sleep. Never enough time to eat. Never enough time to think what he needed to think as he sped towards the Heathrow airport parking joint where he was going to meet them. He half-heartedly wished that they could’ve had the meeting at…Say…The Glasgow airport parking place that he’d suggested as a joke, but he’d known they wouldn’t take him seriously. No one had even really taken him seriously and now wasn’t the time to be making jokes. It hadn’t always been like this. He’d been happy once, a while ago, he was sure of that, it was just so damn hard to remember. Most of his days were spend in a perpetual misery; it’s not that he himself was even a miserable person by nature, rather an unfortunate victim of circumstance. Just sometimes it was as if a mist descended down on him, well maybe not down on him per se, but around him, with him stuck in the middle. He hated being stuck in the middle of that damn cloud. That damned yellow cloud. He imagined it was yellow because the thought of a yellow cloud just seemed generally unpleasant. Enough, he thought, time to press on. With that, he imagined a stationary movie camera sat somewhere back behind him at a point already passed, watching him speeding off into the distance. He wished it was a sunset. He sighed again, disappearing from the camera’s view. To meet them.