Five Blocks Out

Dæmon walked fast but not too fast. He’d learned that trick in the city—look like you know where you’re going, but don’t break a sweat. Especially not when you’re heading to a meeting.

He checked his phone. 9:39.

If the bus had shown up, he would’ve taken it. But he didn’t mind the walk. It gave him space to think. Or at least to fake confidence.

The streets were typical for a valley morning—gritty air, fresh concrete dust, and construction noise folded into fog. Everything buzzing quietly.

He tried to mentally rehearse the talking points. Not for the first time. A product roadmap update. Some discussion of timelines. Maybe something about user metrics and churn. He didn’t hate his job. He just didn’t really know how he got there.

Two blocks out, he saw it.

A small boy was in the crosswalk, tugging a half-collapsed cardboard box. Cans spilled across the wet street, rolling toward the curb.

A truck’s turn signal clicked to life. The boy didn’t seem to notice.

Dæmon didn’t think—he moved.

He stepped into the street, crouched down, and helped corral the cans. A few rolled against his foot. The boy blinked at him, startled but grateful. Together they shoved the cans back into the box. Dæmon gave it one clean scoop forward onto the curb just as the light changed.

The driver honked once—impatient but not angry.

The boy waved and hurried off.

Dæmon stood up, heart tapping a little faster now. His slacks were damp at the knee.

He kept walking.

Two blocks to go.

He tried to recall what he was going to say at the meeting. Something about... cohort analysis? User segmentation?

It didn’t matter. He would be there. He would speak. And maybe they’d listen.

The streetlights blinked in sequence as he crossed. The world continued.

Just another morning. Mostly.