I pulled over, rolled down my window.

“What’s up?” I asked my mind.

“Waiting for a bus. Can’t wander far enough by foot.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Boston.”

“Good luck.” I drove away.

That evening, I returned. “Done waiting?” I asked.

“The Boston bus doesn’t stop here, does it?”

“Nope.”

Iain Young doesn’t let his mind wander without a round-trip ticket.