The air smelled of drying river grass, river silt, and warm concrete.

Below, the streetlights flickered on along the avenue, throwing long yellow rectangles across the asphalt.

In the parking lot below, my silver Toyota sat straight between the painted white lines.

I stepped back inside through the sliding glass door and pulled the screen shut.

The apartment was quiet and warm.

On the nightstand by the bedroom door sat my grandmother’s heirloom teddy bear, its red ribbon smoothed flat against its plush chest.

Beside the bed hung the framed blueprint of my very first bridge project, behind clean glass, without a speck of dust on the wooden frame.