It's not a voice, but almost a song. The rhythmic sound of the tire treads across the asphalt. A brush of the wind on my knuckles. Where the usual frenetic activity of everyone trying to get to work and rushing like they overslept is gone. The random and sudden lack of cars that make the space seem more open than what it usually is.
There is no rush to reach your destination. You might not know even where the destination is where you're going. All you see are the exit signs passing you by, and the city growing smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror as you head out. It doesn't matter which direction it is, you'll know you've reached it when you see it.
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