His suitcase is decades old. The wheels are worn from the miles of carpets, asphalt, concrete paths Parcell has walked. He finds the static of his roller suitcase comforting. The gaps in the concrete tap out a rhythm on his case's wheels. Shhhhh... -pop. Shhhhh... -pop. Shhhhh... -pop. Vitality, the sound reminds him of youth and they echo his heart as it stretches to the streets before him, to the end of the end of the block, to the end of the street, to the end of the city, to the end of the world.