He Walked too Far

Sometimes the long walks took Moreland into new parts of the city, blocks and blocks that he had never seen before or that had completely changed since the last time he had visited them. He learned every restaurant had a distinct smell, whether tucked into a basement or hidden behind frosted glass, and Moreland liked to inhale them all deeply. The only ones that were not unique were chains filled with tasteless food, and he wasn't sure that was a restaurant at all. He believed what he smelled could unlock the neighborhood, could show him how the people who visited dressed and moved, could tell him what they talked about, and even who they went home with.

Moreland liked to walk until he was lost, far from home, having followed his nose, like a bloodhound he traced the scent to its source. Walking was his way of avoiding the emptiness he felt in his heart ever since his wife had passed. His feet carried him away from the loneliness while his nose led him to new friends.

Today he was too lost thinking of his wife, nearly ten years gone. He's lost her in a car accident when an self-driving car failed to recognize her as a pedestrian. He had strayed too far, beyond the range of backtracking, often wrought with incorrect turns, his way back to his front door on foot. Searching for a street name that could lead him to a bus or a train, he was overwhelmed by all the smells of his journey.