He woke up calmly. That was the problem. No panic, no jolt just a soft awareness that something had been forgotten. Then the clock. Then the realization that the flight had already boarded, possibly already left, carrying with it a version of the day that no longer included him. He sat on the edge of the bed. There had been an alarm. Maybe two. A careful plan the night before, the usual assurances. But sleep had made its own decisions. He called the airline. Rebooked. Paid the fee that always feels like a tax on being human. Later, at the airport, he watched planes take off with a kind of detached respect. Timing, he thought, is also an instrument. And today, he missed the entrance.