Fine Dust and Lost Keys in the Parking Garage

Fine Dust and Lost Keys in the Parking Garage

I was late for work and couldn’t find my keys in the kitchen, except the kitchen opened into the parking garage at my old office. Everything was gray with this fine dust, like after a fire, and the fluorescent lights still buzzed. I kept checking my phone for the bus times but the screen only showed a blinking emergency alert I couldn’t read. My coworker Dana was there in the hallway, except she also felt like my neighbor from downstairs, telling me the elevators were out because of “the air.” I tried to run for the train but my legs barely moved and I was wearing pajama pants with my work badge. The station mixed with the supermarket—empty shelves, flickering signs. I felt this low dread that I’d miss the last shuttle and also embarrassment that I hadn’t packed a mask like everyone else seemed to have. When I finally found a door that should have been the lobby it was just more hallway, longer than it should be.