Humming Solar Awnings and a Copper Key

Humming Solar Awnings and a Copper Key

I was walking home from work, but my neighborhood was slightly off. The streets were laid out the same, but every house had solar awnings that hummed, and the grocery store on the corner had a completely different name I couldn't read. I ran into Sarah from high school, but she acted like we were current coworkers and asked if I was ready for our shift tomorrow at some logistics office I've never worked at. I went inside my apartment building, but the key fob was a thick piece of copper that wouldn't scan. A neighbor I didn't recognize held the door and called me by a different name, sounding annoyed that I'd locked myself out again. I got into my unit, but the furniture was someone else's taste—sleek and grey—and there were framed photos of me with people I had never met, all of us laughing at a beach. I felt this intense, quiet panic that I'd stepped into the wrong version of my life and couldn't find the seam to slip back.