The "T" formed by the two-street intersection was mostly empty, the clean pavement unblemished from potholes or cracks. Tom couldn't see so much as a sewer grate, and wondered why everything about this Reality seemed simple but . . . off somehow.
"I hope I never find out," he thought. "I want out of here."
Max zigzagged back and forth as he scanned the street for any sign or clue of a place in which they might need to stand at the appointed time. He clutched his arm and limped as if the pain had traveled through the rest of his body. Hana searched as well, and Tom joined in. No one said a word, but worry and discouragement hung in the air like wilting clouds. Time was running out. Though confident they were in the right place, Tom didn't know if that was good enough.
It does not matter; I do not care.
Just make sure your feet find air.
"The word air has to be carved somewhere," Max said.