They walked, silently. White noise, from nearby traffic, and people, glided like ice-skates past their shifting feet. Clouds became saturated with orange, and starlight began to shine through the darkening atmosphere. The city towered over them, and office windows glistened in the twilight.

He consciously breathed in the air, bulging his stomach first, slowly filling his lungs until he pushed back his shoulders to fit it all in. He held it for several seconds, then relaxed as he blew from his nostrils. In sighing, he again noticed her whose paces were matching his own. She had first introduced herself to him earlier that week, and she now introduced conversation.

“Michael, what did you think of the concert?” Her voice lingered in the air, stopping to resonate like a cloud pausing momentarily to fog the land. The innocence of her voice gently released the eagerness hidden within—a cloud gently releasing its rain.

“The music was excellent. That piece by Adams was wonderful—almost intoxicating. I think I’ll have to buy a copy of it.” Remembering her eagerness, he added, “Did you enjoy the concert?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, shivering with her shoulders and head in emphasis. “The rhythms of ‘Meister Eckhardt and Quackie’ were amazing. I could imagine clouds, and birds flying through them and singing. It was enchanting.”

The conversation paused. They continued to walk along the paved sidewalks, occasionally glancing at the cars that passed them. He remembered passing earlier the back wall of the music hall, its cast iron window lattices contorted into the organic forms of art noveau. Down the street, his car was parked in the position he remembered.

She resumed her effort: “How did you like that second movement?”

“It was quite painful,” he, at length, rejoined, “and it seemed rather dissonant—the brass especially. The sound overwhelmed me.”

“Yes, it was somewhat harsh. But I think the third movement resolved that pretty well.” Her lips parted again, emitting no sound. He unlocked the car. Inside, they entertained themselves for several moments with the buckling of seat-belts, listening to the engine meander its way into a circular, constant motion.

Cautiously, he glanced right; his vision indicated a clear street. She, seeing his rotating head, returned the glance, but saw his eyes focused past hers. Their heads resumed forward poses, and the car glided onto the road like the white noise it produced.

Speakers softly transformed electronic pulses to sound: Satie’s third gymnopedie muted the constant hum of noise.

“This is a sad piece, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder how someone could ever be so sad…” she said while turning toward him.

His eyes focused inward. Firmness composed his features.

Her eyes focused intently on his face. “Is everything alright?”

The composure disappeared. “Of course.” It flickered on his features once more before retreating.

The moon had risen. White caressed the dashboard and pulsed among shadows of bridges, lingering on her hands that rested in her lap. He added, “I don’t think that sadness is so hard to find.”

“Are you sad about something?” Eagerness, like the cascading moonlight, poured from her voice.

“No, I don’t think so.” His voice emanated from his throat.

Her hand slid down from her lap; it rested on her seat, next to him. His eyes saw her hand, and blinked as they glanced quickly right. Her fingers relaxed, open.

He continued to drive.

Moonlight shifted over the car like waves riding along a shore. Her face and fingers bloomed white, serene. The shadows of bridges disappeared, and were replaced with silhouettes of leaves.

The car glided into her driveway.

“Goodnight, Ellen.”

“Goodnight. Thank you.” She turned to him. He saw her eyes gently pool, and he breathed a deep breath and listened to the smooth noise of the air passing his lips.

Her fingers trembled when she left. He watched her walk to the door, unlock it, and walk into yellow--leaving him to the night.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his lips tensed. He drove home in contemplation.

Amid the white noise, he stopped at the entrance to his drive. His lips parted and fell slowly forward with his head. Tears glided along the steering wheel.