“Where to?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? I need to stamp your ticket.”
“Back.”
“Sorry?”
“Back into the same routine.”
“That’s not… a location.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Well then, I don’t know.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“My childhood.”
“A place, I’m talking about a place.”
“Well isn’t a person’s childhood a place? Somewhere you visit in the back of your mind? Something you reminisce about in moments of hardship?”
“I guess.”
“I’m sorry… I’m confusing you. I’m confusing myself too actually. I’ll be honest, I don’t know where I’m going. I was told I needed to go somewhere… so I can be something.”
The man doesn’t reply.
“I’m going where everyone else is going.”
The man pauses for a minute. He then pulls out a stamp and quickly stamps the card, shoving it back to the traveller.
“Here,” he grunts. “You’re good to go.”
“Thanks,” the traveller whispers.
The traveller looks down at the card. The stamp is bright red.
It reads, “Nowhere”.
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