Out there somewhere ahead, you can see the end of the road.
Just faintly. Just on the horizon. Maybe it’s a mirage. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s the threshold between here and there, now and then, the denoument.
On one side and the other, a blur. Time, stationary, as you rush past it. You try to see colors but really it’s all moving too fast; it blends to gray; pure motion.
The road vibrates a little.
Out there, somewhere ahead, you can see the end of it.
Just faintly. Just on the horizon. Maybe it’s a mirage. Maybe it’s not.