John drove right by the office where the ledger of credits and debits awaited his diligent review.
What the hell does an oncologist know, anyway? This was not how things were meant to end.
As a child, John had dreamed of bold adventures over the horizon. It seemed to him, now, that he had been sleepwalking through a life of spreadsheets, commuting, and mowing the lawn. He’d had courage enough only for the cinema, an occasional, self-indulgent ice cream, and to take an advanced class in nature photography.
But now his car is at the airport. How will he be remembered?