It's a little after sunset as a car slowly winds its way through a lively suburban neighborhood pausing only for the stop signs meant to save lives but not time. The fading light above still holds enough color to illuminate the kids riding their bikes in the streets and those still at play in front yards. The din of mothers calling them in for dinner echoes in the street as porch lights beckon them home like moths to the American dream.
The car finds its way into the driveway of a sensible two-story house near the end of a street and the driver turns off the engine. He sits for a moment in this newfound silence. The pleasant hush of social purgatory. Even the jingle of the keys seems jarring; unpleasant. With his work behind him and his family ahead, he finds this solitary moment comforting. Lingering for just a moment longer, he exhales the tension of the day and exits the car.
With a friendly nod to a neighbor also arriving home, he continues up the walkway to the door. With key inserted, he pauses for a breath and then steps inside to begin the next half of his day. The door shuts and the porch light comes on.
The beacon of a man once again living on his own time.