Below him, as he sped along the freeway at 400 mph, looking without interest at the holographic scenes on the billboards, the polyasphalt flowed in a thin, undefined stripe. Elia Ferri came home from the office after yet another routine day, but he wasn't thrilled with his return. The conversations with his wife had become increasingly banal, as if the two had lost all interest in communicating. At night they fell asleep holed up in their own space, without even touching each other.
“When was the last time?”, the man wondered, Phone Number Data decelerating the vehicle up to 300 kilometers per hour, as if to unconsciously delay his return home. She didn't even remember him anymore. Two years ago he had reached out to her, but he had been rejected. Ten days later he had found an outlet by going out with one of the last colleagues hired by the company where he worked. She was ten years younger than him, she spoke little and didn't ask questions. The perfect woman, she had declared Elia within herself. He hadn't had the courage to face Marta and confess his betrayal to her. Ultimately, she thought, there was no love between him and that girl.
In truth, the man realised, there wasn't any more between him and his wife either. The city was approaching, the skyscrapers were already emerging from the mass of synthetic trees in the urban parks and soon Elia would find himself channeled into the residents' preferential lanes, dragged together with all the other vehicles, along pre-set routes, up to his apartment. There were a few kilometers left before entering the city when a holographic writing caught his attention.