I pulled up to the window and passed a ten-dollar bill to the clerk.

She gave me a warm paper cup capped with a white plastic lid and four dollars in change.

“Headed out to Naperville?” the barista asked, glancing at the navy laptop bag on my passenger seat.

“I was thinking about turning around and going back,” I said.

“Westbound traffic is at a dead stop past the toll plaza,” she said, leaning her elbows on the windowsill.

“My dad called ten minutes ago and said nobody’s moving on the highway.”